Seconds passed. I tried to control my breathing. If they guy heard me, it would all be over.
I wish I’d gone to the bathroom. Do I have time? Maybe if I just run to—No, too risky.
And then I heard voices in the corridor and all thoughts ceased.
The metallic click of the door lock disengaging. The door swung open and Harriet stepped inside.
Alone.
I let out a long sigh. She’d chickened out. Part of me was disappointed, part relieved. I put my hand out to open the closet door—
Harriet glanced quickly around, including a look right at the closet. I froze. She wasn’t alone. She was just checking the coast was clear.
The guy stepped in behind her.
I went absolutely still. I hadn’t known it was possible for a person to make so little noise. I think I even stopped breathing.
The guy closed the door behind him. Harriet walked on across the room, nervously twisting her hands together. “Do you want a drink?” she asked, her voice high and tight.
“I’m good,” said the man. He was maybe three feet in front of my face, with just the closet door separating us. He seemed bigger, now. Not a huge guy but an inch or two taller than me and his confidence made him seem bigger still. Maybe it was because Harriet and I were both so nervous; he was definitely the one most in control. He pulled a billfold from his pocket—a thick sheaf of hundreds—and began silently counting them out.
Harriet fiddled with the iPod dock. We’d talked about music in advance, even set up a playlist, so it should only have taken her a second. But her hands were as shaky and clumsy as mine had been with the key. By the time a soft R&B track filled the room, the man was done with the money. Harriet turned around to see him holding out a wad of notes. She drew in her breath at the sight of them.
“One thousand. That’s right...right?” His accent sounded like cultured New York—a Harvard man, maybe. I could get a better look at his suit, now, and it looked like it cost a hell of a lot more than mine.
Harriet nodded dumbly and took the money. I drew in a tiny gasp as she drew the notes from his fingers and pushed them into her purse. That was it. She’d taken his money. For the next few hours, he owned her.
It was as if a switch had been thrown. Before she’d even turned around from putting her purse on the counter, he’d slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him, her back against his chest. She gulped and I saw her eyes flick, just for an instant, to the closet.
“Do you kiss?” he asked. He put his other hand on her arm and then ran it lightly up to her shoulder, tracing her neck and smoothing over her chin.
We hadn’t talked about that. I vaguely remembered something about real prostitutes not kissing, because it was too intimate, too personal. That had never made sense to me—how can kissing be more intimate than sex?
It was too late to debate it now. Harriet nodded. The man smiled. And suddenly, he was lifting her chin, bringing his mouth down on hers.
It was like someone had punched me in the chest. The sight of her soft, red-painted lips crushed beneath his...I suddenly understood the rule real prostitutes have. This was something we did every day, something shared between man and wife and now….
Now her mouth was his.
I saw his cheeks begin to work and then hers, too. She was opening up to him—God, he had his tongue in her mouth! They twisted and moved, breaking and kissing again. I was so close that I could hear the sound of their lips meeting, the soft gasps as my wife panted between kisses. She’s mine! I wanted to smash my way out of the closet and wrestle the guy to the ground. She’s mine! You shouldn’t be kissing her!
But she wasn’t mine anymore. He’d bought her. And the thought made a dark heat pulse and throb in me, my cock hardening.
The hand that was on her waist was rubbing in slow circles now—almost a calming motion, as if he didn’t want to startle her. But he was working his way up her body, over her trim, flat stomach to just beneath her breasts. He paused there for a moment, still circling, as if savoring the moment.
And then he cupped one breast and squeezed.
I saw her gasp and groan a little through the kiss and one of her hands came up to grab his wrist. It looked instinctual—he can’t do that! Or maybe, I can’t let him do that! I’m married! But then she overrode her instincts and let her hand drop back to her side. And he began to rub her breast, lifting and squeezing the soft flesh, almost easing it clear of the dress’s neckline.
Harriet was leaning back against him, now. God, she looked amazing. The high heels and her slightly bent legs made every firm curve of her calves and thighs gleam in the stockings. The dress clung to her hips, the split revealing a long, tempting length of upper thigh. It wasn’t super-tight on her ass but, as I watched, the guy slid his other hand down and smoothed the fabric over her ass cheek, revealing its shape. Higher up, her pale breasts were bulging provocatively from the neckline of her dress as the guy squeezed them. She had her eyes closed and her lips were slightly parted as he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone. She was shaking her head just a little, maybe subconsciously, her long hair tossing. Her cheeks were just slightly flushed with pleasure.
She’d never looked so beautiful. I was getting to see her in a way few other men ever see their wives. I was able to stand back and see just how gorgeous she looked when she was turned on.
He started to drag her dress up her thighs. Thanks to her stockings and the loose hem, it rose easily. He had one finger hooked into the slit at the side and, as it rose higher, his finger glided up over her stockings and onto pale, bare skin. I saw her react to that, her whole body jerking. But he was kissing her again, his mouth hungrily working hers, and I could tell from the low groans she made that his tongue was plunging deep. And though she jerked against him, she pressed right back against him again, her back to his chest, her ass to his groin.
He used both hands now and hauled the dress up higher. Her stocking tops appeared and then pale, creamy thigh and finally the black lace edging of her panties.
She finally broke the kiss, practically having to tear her mouth away from his. She swallowed. “I—” She shook her head, but not in a no way. More as if she was trying to clear it. “I—”
He didn’t argue with her or try to kiss her again. He just hoisted her dress a little higher, so that the front of her panties was exposed. Then he pressed one leg between hers to open them a little and, as he did, he turned her towards me.
I’d been looking at them from the side. Now, by chance, I could see her from the front for a moment. I drank in every heave of her chest, every toss of her hair. One of his hands held her dress up while the other dipped beneath it. He pressed three fingers together and—I caught my breath—he began to rub her through her panties. She let out a high little cry of surprise, but didn’t try to stop him. I stared at his fingers as they slid up and down over the smooth fabric, pressing inward a little. Jesus, he’s got his hand on my wife’s pussy!
She started to grind her hips, her ass rubbing against his crotch. Her eyes had opened as soon as he’d touched her there and she was staring right at the closet—right at me. Her expression was a delicious mixture of shock and arousal. Disbelief that she was doing this and that I was letting her.
He kissed her ear and licked her there. Then he spoke, his voice low and thick with arousal, and it was just loud enough for me to hear him. “You like that, don’t you?”
She nodded softly. A sudden stab of jealousy shot through me.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
She swallowed and ground against him for another moment as if stalling for time. But then she nodded.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” Her voice was a shock. I’d never heard it so low, so full of need.
He rubbed her for another second and then pushed her away, turning her at the same time. “Take off the dress,” he said.
She stagger
ed a little in her heels and I heard her give a disappointed little groan. She’d been getting close, hoping to come. But he was going to make her wait—if she got to come at all. She was meant to be an escort, after all. It was all about his pleasure.
She came to a stop with her back to me, blocking most of the man from my view. She reached back and unzipped the back of her dress, then lifted it off over her head and dropped it to the floor. In her black underwear, stockings and heels, she was breathtaking. Her pale ass was towards me, perfectly displayed in the lace-edged panties. Her elegant back led my eyes up to the black line of her bra strap and the toned, smooth flesh of her shoulders, caressed by all that soft blonde hair.
“Get on the bed,” the man said. “In fact...stand on the bed. I want to look at you.”
Harriet put one knee onto the bed—which made her ass look absolutely amazing—and then clambered shakily to her feet. It wasn’t easy, in the high heels and on a soft surface, but she managed it.
“Good. Now open your legs. Lift your hair up.”
I watched as my wife stepped her legs apart, bracing them in a wide vee like a pin-up model. She swept her long hair up away from her neck, revealing its pale elegance. She even pouted a little.
The guy was grinning up at her. It was almost as if he was taking photos—and I think he was, in a way. He was filing away every detail of her in his mind. Long after tonight was over, he’d be jerking off to the memories of my wife. The thought made me even harder.
Then he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. His tie followed. “Take off the panties,” he told her. “You can leave the rest on.”
I saw Harriet swallow. This was it. She crouched down so that she was a little more stable, then sat down on the bed. She hooked the panties down her thighs and bent her legs so that she could get them off, then tossed them towards the edge of the bed.
The man was stripping off his shirt. Now it was Harriet’s turn to stare at him. He was in good shape, with hard slabs of muscle and dark nipples. I followed her gaze to the firm ridges of his abs. Her eyes widened and I saw her hands tighten a little where they gripped the bedclothes. She wanted him.
He dropped the shirt and shucked off his pants and shoes, leaving him in just black jockey shorts. Harriet fell back a little, breathing hard. She supported herself on her elbows as she stared at him.
He pushed down the shorts and stepped out of them. His cock sprang into view, big and thick and swollen hard. The head was a shining purple, the shaft a darker tan than mine. Time seemed to slow down. I watched him approach her, his cock bobbing as he walked. That thing is going inside Harriet. It’s going inside my wife.
Her eyes were locked on it as he stepped up to the bed and then climbed onto it. Her knees were slightly bent and her legs a little open. He used his own knee to nudge them farther apart. God, he’s going to—
“Wait!” said Harriet suddenly. She dived off the bed and ran to her purse, giving me a fleeting glimpse of the soft blonde hair at the juncture of her thighs, then her gorgeous, pert ass as she leaned over the counter. She held up a condom in her shaking hand.
The man nodded. He was kneeling on the end of the bed, his cock standing out stiffly in front of him. I could see a drop of pre-cum shining at the end. “You put it on,” he told her.
I saw Harriet gulp. She’d never done that before—back when we’d used them, I’d always put them on. She knelt in front of him and tore open the packet, then squeezed it out onto her hand, staring at it. At any moment, I expected the guy to ask, haven’t you done this before? But, if he noticed her hesitation, he didn’t say anything.
She reached out and gripped his shaft with one hand to steady it and I could see the jolt that went through her body at the warm touch of it—the first time in years she’d touched a cock other than mine. She put the condom against the head, trapping that little jewel of sticky moisture, and then unrolled it down his length. His cock looked even bigger with it on. And there was something sordid about it, something seedy. The hooker, on her knees in front of her client, putting a condom on him.
I was throbbing hard in my pants but I didn’t dare stroke myself in case the guy heard. Harriet was just as turned on—I could see it in her wide eyes, in the way her breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing. Then she looked up at him and I saw something else—not fear, exactly, but she was definitely nervous. She leaned back from him, further and further, and then finally tipped and fell back on her hands. Her eyes never left his face for a second. She sat there, her hands behind her, legs pressed together to preserve her modesty, and bit her lip.
Her trepidation didn’t bother her client. He shuffled forward on his knees.
She caught her breath and shuffled an equal distance away.
In the closet, I leaned forward. Was she having second thoughts? Did I need to burst out and stop everything? I looked from her face to his and then down to the man’s throbbing cock. In another few seconds, that thing would be inside her.
“Something wrong?” he didn’t sound worried. If anything, he sounded curious.
I saw Harriet glance towards the closet, but she stopped herself before she could look right at me. Her throat moved as she swallowed. “No,” she said firmly. And she slowly lay back on the bed, like a princess offering herself up as a sacrifice to the dragon.
That was it. She’d decided. However nervous she was, her lust had won through.
The man grinned. He shuffled a little closer on his knees and, this time, she didn’t try to move away. He came as close as he could and then waited patiently for her to open her legs.
She gulped. And stepped her feet apart.
Thanks to her moving up the bed a little, I was now looking at her from the side and slightly up her body towards her head. I could see the smooth, perfect skin on the inside of her thighs stretching tight and the soft, pink lips of her pussy flowering open. I thought I could see moisture there—God, she was so wet you could actually see it! And then, at the top of the lips, the delicate folds that hid her clit.
The sight of her had me instantly rock hard and I could tell it had the same effect on the client. Even over the music, I could hear his breathing speed up. He reached forward and brushed his fingers against her.
Instantly, she jerked back. She stopped herself before she’d gone more than a few inches, but there was no disguising it.
“You’re nervous,” the man said. It wasn’t a question.
They stared at each other for a second. Shit! Was the whole thing blown? Did he suspect she wasn’t an escort?
“I’m fine,” Harriet said. Then, in a more confident voice,” You can touch me.”
Hearing her say it sent a crackle of electricity straight down my spine.
He reached forward and ran his fingers over her wet lips, smoothing down them with a gentleness I wouldn’t have expected. After all, he was paying for his pleasure—he shouldn’t have been concerned for hers. Harriet looked equally bewildered.
Neither of us knew, back then, that for some men it’s all about control. Having control of a woman’s body. Making her lose control.
He began to stoke very softly up and down her lips, tracing them with the tips of two fingers. She just stared at him in wonder, her breathing slow and labored. God, what must it feel like? A stranger’s fingers on her, the first time anyone but me had touched her there in years.
He started to increase the pace, rubbing instead of stroking, almost touching her clit at the top of each pass. Harriet began to grind her hips and her expression changed from confusion to wonder. I could see it going through her head: am I really getting paid for this?
The man’s rubbing got faster and faster until—I strained my ears—yes, I could hear her. God, I could hear how wet she was against his fingers. And then I saw him change the angle of his fingers and—
Harriet and I both gasped as he slid two fingers into her, gong right in to the knuckles. He held his hand there, staring deep into her eyes, a
nd I saw her churn her hips and arch her back in response. Then she gasped again, her eyes going wide, and I realized he must have done something inside her, touched some deep, secret place. I saw my wife’s toes curl in frenzied excitement, her eyes squeeze shut—
He suddenly withdrew his fingers, glistening and slick, and I heard Harriet give a little moan of loss. The man grinned at that. And brandished his cock.
My stomach seemed to drop through the floor. This was it. He was actually going to fuck her. Everything else had seemed like a game, somehow—we could have stopped it at any point and it would have just been playing around. But this...if he actually penetrated her….
I thought of our wedding vows. Felt her wedding band and engagement ring hard in my pocket. Jesus. She was really going to...with another man! And for money!
I lifted my hand to the closet door. This was crazy. I couldn’t really let her—
And yet I was harder than I’d ever been. The need to stop it and the need to see it were like perfectly-matched forces playing against one another.
I thought about how nervous she’d looked. She was loving it—that much I was sure of—and that had made her overcome her fears, but what about now it had come to the actual sex? If she wanted to pull out now, I had to make sure she could.
Even as I thought it, the man shuffled right up to her, his cock just grazing her folds, and she gasped. I saw the man glance down between her thighs to position himself—
And in that instant, Harrier turned her head and looked right at me. And she nodded, a tiny, breathless smile of excitement on her lips. Then she was looking back to her client again.
It had been so quick I’d nearly missed it, but now I was sure. She wanted to go through with this. It was going to happen unless I stopped it.
And I didn’t want to stop it.
My eyes were locked on the thick head of his cock as he nestled it between her waiting lips. I could see her spreading around it, the arrow shape of him opening her up. God, he was going to—He was going to—
My Wife, The Escort 1 & 2 (My Wife, The Escort Season 1) Page 5
