by Rylee Swann
Then reality settles onto my shoulders like a shroud. He’s mentioned the job, and I remember that we’re not lovers having a passionate love making session. I’m a job applicant, and he’s testing my ability to do the job. It crushes my exuberance.
From the closet, he pulls out an overnight bag, unzips it and digs until he finds his billfold. He turns back to me and holds out five one hundred dollar bills. I just gawk. “Here, take it,” he says.
“But, I… no one was watching.” I’m suddenly confused and uncertain. Is this what a prostitute feels like? I don’t like this feeling of being devalued as a human being, of being treated like a piece of meat.
“Kim, I say you earned this, so take it. Remember what I told you. I’m your employer, I pay you. Some sessions I won’t be so generous.”
My new mantra: I’m being paid for a job well done.
I nod and grab the money. God, this is going to help out in the next few days.
He goes back into his overnight bag and tosses a cell phone to me. “Don’t give anyone this number. This phone is just for use between the two of us, understand?” I nod, dumbfounded. “And don’t call me just to talk. Call me if you’re going to be unavoidably late for a session or if some other emergency comes up. This is how I’ll reach you to schedule your sessions. Got it?”
“Umm… yes. Yes, got it.”
“Good. Another thing.” He bends and picks up my panties and tosses them to me too. “As pretty as these are, you don’t need to dress like this for sessions. You will always… always be here before the voyeur and will be undressed and waiting. Standing, sitting, lying on the bed, it doesn’t matter, but you’ll be naked. There will be rare occasions when the voyeur requests something special, a particular dress or costume. I’ll advise you of such well in advance. Understand?”
“Y-yes, I understand.”
He picks up his pants and looks at me. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to sound as confident as possible, the five crisp hundred dollar bills in my hand a big incentive to agree with his terms of employment. “D-do I have the job?”
I’m stuttering like a fool, but I can’t help it. I’m still in the afterglow of amazing sex, but at the same time, I feel used. Like a one night stand gone bad. I want Michael to hug me, to get back into bed with me and cuddle. Instead, he’s all business. I know this is what I should expect, but I hate it all the same. What I might hate even more is that I want to have sex with him again.
God, what does that say about me? The words sad and desperate come to mind.
“Not yet. I’ll call you in a couple of days or so to schedule our session with Jack. That’ll be your final test. Perform like you did tonight in front of him and you’ll go far.” He pauses to pull his pants on. “Good night, Kim. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
I realize I’m being dismissed, and I scurry off the bed, gather my clothes and get dressed. He’s not even looking at me. What a weird, strange change from hot passionate sex to all business in a matter of minutes. I swallow and force myself to think about the money. I can do this. Remember the goal. Pay the bills, keep a roof over my head, put food on the table.
Yeah, I’ll bet that’s what all the fresh off the bus new prostitutes say. At least I had awe-inspiring sex. I doubt most prostitutes can say that.
“Um… good night, Michael. I’ll ahhh… look forward to your call.” He’s already got his nose buried in his phone and offers me a distracted smile.
I tiptoe out of his room and do the walk of shame to my car.
CHAPTER 6
I moan, stretch, contemplate getting out of bed. Talk about a serious fucking. Michael was spectacular. The best I’ve ever had. So what’s wrong?
Last night, I became a prostitute.
I groan, roll over in bed and look at the money sitting prominently on my night table.
Fuck it. I’m not really a prostitute. I won’t be standing on a street corner late at night in nothing but high heels, fishnet stockings, and a tee and skirt that barely covers my assets. No, I will be having regular sex with an incredibly hot guy who can fuck me to heights I’d only dreamed of.
So what if he isn’t my boyfriend?
So what if some loser is paying him to watch?
So… what?
What is wrong with me?
Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
I groan once more for the hell of it and strip off my t-shirt from last night. I hadn’t bothered to put my bra and panties back on when I dressed in the hotel room, and I’d managed to take off my shorts as I hit my bed in an exhausted lump when I got home.
I pad to the hamper and am about to toss the tee in when, instead, I bring it to my face and inhale deeply. Yes, it smells like the ocean. Like Michael.
Yummy.
I laugh at myself and head to the bathroom for a much needed shower.
I’m naked, and all the blinds are pulled up to let the sun in. I hate a dark apartment. I laugh. I’d never thought about who might be able to see me as I strut around.
I wonder how many of my neighbors have seen my breasts.
Moving to the window, I stop and look out onto the street. It’s always busy in Long Beach, especially in warmer weather, and for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to step out onto my terrace just as I am. Just for a second, no harm in that, right? Maybe a couple of people might notice me if they happened to look up, and then I’d dash back inside before someone called the cops on the crazy lady exposing herself.
I laugh, and that’s when I catch movement from the corner of my eye.
If I look straight out my window, I see the street. If I look to my right, I’m gazing onto my neighbor’s terrace.
I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but certainly long enough to get an eyeful of my breasts. Heat boils over onto my cheeks, and I start to scurry away.
Wait, what am I doing? I’m supposed to be an exhibitionist, and this is the perfect opportunity to practice.
With that in mind, I force myself to throw back my shoulders and look into the eyes of this unintentional voyeur. For a moment, he’s the one who looks embarrassed, but when he realizes that I’m putting on a little show for him, he smiles and gives me a thumbs up.
I want to run and hide. Who am I kidding? This is hard, but it’ll only last a moment or two more, I tell myself. I can do this.
Reaching up slowly, and in what I hope is a provocative manner, I take hold of the cord for the blinds and release it, letting them fall inch by agonizing inch to the window sill. My neighbor voyeur nods and applauds as the blinds hide him from view.
I can’t believe what I’ve just done. Grabbing my towel, I run into the bathroom, shut the door behind me and lean up against it until I’ve collected myself. I laugh, realizing how much fun that was. What a rush!
I told Michael I could do this before I knew if I could. And now? I really do think I can. I jump into the shower still laughing.
The steaming hot water feels delicious against my skin, and I’m almost immediately aroused. I don’t kid myself. Letting a stranger see my breasts sent me at least halfway down the road to arousal before a single bead of water hit my flesh. I smile and raise my face to the hot press of water as it cascades down my body. I start to reach for my bath puff, but decide I want something more and grab my rough exfoliating loofah instead. No lotion, I just want to feel the scratch of it on my body.
I start at my neck and move it in circular motions as I work my way down. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I know where I want it. Last night, Michael worked my nipples to raw, sore perfection, and I want more. I bring the loofah down onto my left pert tip and groan and gasp as the rough fibers scratch the sensitive skin. Both nipples immediately harden into ripe rocks as I relive the memories of Michael sucking, pinching, twisting, milking, biting, teasing, and tormenting breasts that were entirely his.
I start to work the loofah in harder, faster circles on my nipple and sensitive areola. I want to
scream as the sensations start to drive me wild and send electricity to my core. I move my other hand to my pussy and pinch the very tip of my clit the way Michael did last night. Already on the edge, I thrust a couple of fingers into my pussy, pumping them hard and deep. No foreplay, like an animal I just want a quick, fast release.
The steaming hot water, the sweet pain to my nipple, and my relentless thrusting brings me to the fast orgasm I demand. I cry out in pleasure, dropping the loofah and steadying myself with a hand against the slick tiles. I can’t breathe and gasp in lungful’s of air as I shudder uncontrollably.
It takes a long time to come down from my quickie, but I finally manage to calm down, wash my hair and body and depart the bathroom, clean and sated.
It’s already three p.m. — ah, the life of unemployed leisure — and I’m hearing a strange chirping sound coming from somewhere in the living room. I follow the sound and track it to my handbag, the one I had with me last night.
It’s the cell phone Michael gave me.
I grab the bag and all the contents spill out onto the floor. And of course, the cell phone winds up way under the sofa. I drop to all fours, gritting my teeth as my sore nipples scrape the carpeting, and stretch my arm under the sofa as far as it will go. My fingertips lightly caress the cell, but I can’t get a grip.
“C’mon, shit! Don’t hang up,” I say and manage to stretch my arm just a little bit further. I strain and am finally able to flip the phone over in my direction. Carefully, so as not to send it flying back against the wall, I work my fingers around the case and drag it out and into my greedy little palms.
“Hello? Hello?” I say, frantically swiping the call button.
“I thought you weren’t going to answer, Kim.” My stomach twists at Michael’s throaty rumble.
“I dropped the phone. It went behind the couch,” I ramble out at him. “Hi.”
“I see. I’ve set up an appointment with Jack for tonight. He has other plans earlier in the evening, but I wanted to fit you in, so he’s agreed to one a.m. Are you available?”
“One a.m. tonight?” I parrot back at him, stunned.
“Yes, in Brooklyn. Is that a problem?”
“Brooklyn?”
“Yes,” he says again, this time a little impatiently. “You’re very picky for someone unemployed and broke. Is this a problem?”
“Oh, no no no. It’s not a problem. I’m sorry. I’m just so used to calculating exactly how much everything I do is going to cost that my brain immediately went to the price of gas. I’m so sorry! I can be there.”
“I see. Your cell phone has GPS, and I already added Jack’s address so you should have no trouble finding the place. I’ll see you at one a.m. sharp. Don’t be late. Jack is expected home between one-thirty and two. Be prepared. This is a full dress rehearsal. Understand? Fill your tank with gas and bring me the receipt.”
“Thank you! I will…”
He’s already hung up, and I sit staring dumbly at the phone for a beat or two. Sex again with Michael in just a few hours. I think my clit just twitched. Is that possible?
CHAPTER 7
I take a nap and awake refreshed shortly before my alarm is set to go off. Stretching, I smile. I’m going to have mind blowing sex in just a couple of hours. And someone is going to watch. Oh shit. Someone is going to watch! This sets off a wave of nerves, and I think for a moment that I might throw up.
To calm down, I think about how empowering it felt for my neighbor to see my breasts. I was in charge. He wasn’t forcing me to do anything, and I’ll just bet he got hard while he watched. I remember the feeling of elation and hold onto that as I shower — again.
Naked and standing in front of my dresser, I start opening drawers, searching for just the right thing to wear. Michael said that it didn’t matter because the voyeur wouldn’t see anyway, but Michael will see. I don’t want to look like a slob for him.
I settle on a pink low-cut v-neck tee, another which shows off my ample cleavage and a black skort. It’s a ridiculous skirt and shorts Frankenstein marriage but comfortable, easy to drive in, and shows off my legs. Despite the weight gain, my legs are still an appealing asset.
Putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I nod at myself in the mirror, practice a smile or two then race out to my car, fiddle for a moment with the GPS on Michael’s phone, find Jack’s address, and off I go.
Miraculously, I encounter no acts of god, aliens landing on the highway in front of me, or floods of biblical proportions and arrive at Jack’s place with a few minutes to spare. Won’t Michael be pleased? Parking across the street from the brownstone, I dash up the stairs to the front door, marveling at my luck. Who finds a parking spot in Brooklyn in the middle of the night? The gods, aliens, and nature must be looking out for me tonight.
I knock on the door then notice a doorbell and ring that too. I have barely a second to smooth out my skort when my cell phone chimes. A text from Michael.
Weird.
Reading it, I smile.
The door is open. Come in and meet me in the back bedroom.
Inviting and mysterious. I’m intrigued and turned on. I open the door as a delicious chill spreads through me that tingles and reverberates in my already swelling clit.
Forcing myself not to run down the hallway, I don’t even bother to look at Jack’s décor as I rush to meet Michael. The back bedroom door is closed but not latched, and I push it open to reveal Michael sitting in a large black leather desk chair.
He nods to me as I enter. “You’re early. I like that.” He raises a hand to indicate the room. “Come in, get undressed.”
Michael’s aura hits me like a blast from a furnace. It’s only been a day since I’ve seen him, but I’ve forgotten how manly he is. Breathing in his sexy ocean scent, I quickly take in my surroundings. A window with the blinds and drapes drawn, a tall oak dresser, a closet, a king-sized bed, and two night stands that match the headboard and dresser. The sheets are black. Satin. Fancy.
“Come on, Kim. Get undressed,” Michael says again from where he eyes me from his chair. For a second, I want to get sassy and tell him to get undressed too, but I keep my mouth shut.
I hang my handbag from the closet doorknob, kick off my shoes, then turn back to face him. This is the moment of truth. I lick my lips in anticipation, meet Michael’s eyes, then strip off my shirt, letting it fall to the floor at my feet. He doesn’t move or say a word, so I reach behind my back, unclasp my bra, and let that slide to the floor too.
I sigh as my breasts are released and lift them up playfully as I stretch my arms above my head. Michael still says nothing, but his eyes are bright and lust filled, and I feel my nipples harden. Watching him as he watches me, I slide my fingers underneath the waistband of my skort and step out of it as it pools around my ankles.
Nothing left now but my panties, and I pause for a moment, luxuriating in Michael’s hawkish, lust filled gaze. It penetrates me to my core and results in dampness between my legs that I can’t wait for him to lap up.
A little moan of need escapes my lips as I frantically tear off my panties and stand before him for his inspection. I even do a little dance, spinning in place to show myself off from all angles. Still, he says nothing, but I notice a large bulge appear at his crotch and hear a low rumble in his chest as he clears his throat.
Yeah, he wants me.
I smile and hold out my hands to him.
This, finally, brings forth more words from him. “Good girl, Kim. I’m hopeful that you are a true exhibitionist.”
I beam at his praise — what am I? twelve? — and start to walk closer to him, but he holds up a hand to halt me. “We need to discuss a few things before Jack gets home,” he says, his tone businesslike.
“Umm, okay.” I’d forgotten about Jack.
“Are you wet, Kim?” His face is inscrutable, but I can tell he’s gotten harder.
I nod with a coy smile. “Yes.”
“Good.” His eyes are glued to my tits.
My nipples are gigantic now and painfully hard.
“Is that what you wanted to discuss?” I ask when Michael doesn’t say anything more. I start to dip a hand to my mound. “I could show you…?”
He clears his throat again. “No, don’t touch yourself now.” His words halt me, and I peek up at him through my lashes.
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t be able to stop myself, and I’ll fuck you before Jack gets here,” he says in a rough whisper.
“Oh,” is all I can say, but my smile widens considerably as my body contracts at his gaze.
He runs a hand through his shock of black hair, pushing it away from his eyes, taking that moment to compose himself.
“When Jack gets here, he’ll sit in this chair. Don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge him. Even when he’s here, the only two people in the room are you and me. Understand?”
“Umm, not really. I know him. I’ve spoken to him. Why wouldn’t I at least say hello?”
“Because I want you to get the full feel for what you’ll be doing for me,” he explains patiently. “After tonight, you won’t know the voyeurs, and what they want is a true, real life sex experience. They want a peek at the real thing, not what they see in movies or on TV. They don’t want to be part of the action, they just want to watch it.”
“Oh, okay, I think I understand.” I need to move, or I’ll burn to death where I stand, the desire for him to touch me drowning out almost everything else. I move to the bed and touch the soft sheets. “These are nice.”
He nods. “They’re Jack’s. He has a thing for black satin.”
“Oh,” I say yet again. Could I at least come up with a better way to start a sentence? “I thought they might be yours. A sweet little touch.”
He just shakes his head, his gaze intense, sexual, predatory.
Heat rushes to my face. “Oh god. I need Jack to get here like, right now!”
