6 comments/ 39137 views/ 8 favorites Sarah's First Day By: Wanderer49 Sarah sat down on the bed. On it was a newspaper open at a page of advertisements. Some of them were simply a girl's name and a phone number: Ann, Kristen, Chantal, Melissa. Several of the advertisements were larger: New Orleans Club, Cottonwood Lodge, Fifth Avenue Terrace. These advertisements had sketches of girls' faces and statements like "Choice of gorgeous ladies" and "Gentlemen's Club". These had addresses as well as phone numbers. She stared at the advertisement for Cottonwood Lodge. Gentlemen's club. The advertisement had a notice in small print at the bottom: Hostesses Required. She recognised the address; it was in a suburb some distance from where she lived in a street which she knew contained mostly clothing warehouses, auto repairers and other such businesses. She reached for the telephone next to the bed and paused with her hand on the receiver. She could feel her heart beating; she was filled with a mixture of sexual arousal and fear. She took a breath, picked up the receiver and dialled the number of Cottonwood Lodge, but she hit a wrong button the first time she tried and had to dial again. Immediately the ring tone began the phone was answered and a female voice said, "Cottonwood Lodge, can I help you?" She felt unready; her heart was pounding now and she seemed to be short of breath; she hadn't thought of exactly what to say. She said, "Is that Cottonwood Lodge?" What a stupid question, she thought, she's just told me that. "Yes it is. Can I help you?" "I'd like," Sarah began, but her mouth was dry and the words didn't come out properly. She swallowed. "I'd like to speak to someone about working at the club, please." "Gentlemen's club," she thought, "Hostess." "What's your name, darling?" "Sheree," said Sarah. Thank God she remembered to say that. Her heart felt ready to explode. "Sheree, have you ever worked before?" "No. I mean, not that type of work." She fought to keep a tremor out of her voice. "My name's Sophie," said the woman at the other end. "Sheree, can you come and see us?" "When?" asked Sarah. "When would you like?" answered Sophie. "We're open late." "OK, maybe about an hour?" She said it as a question; it was all she could manage. "That's lovely, Sheree. There's a front entrance here, but the main entrance is around the back. There's a car park there. I'll be here for another three hours. Sophie. You'll see me when you come in." "OK." She wanted the conversation to end. "I'll look forward to seeing you, Sheree," said Sophie. "Bye." *********************** Sarah hung up. Her heart was subsiding and she had caught her breath; she realised she had been sweating under her arms. She walked out to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. She felt calmer. She had had no particular reason for saying she could not leave for an hour; she just had not wanted to say she could leave immediately. She sat on the bed again. She knew she did not have to go, but she knew that she would. She would change, take the lift downstairs, get in her car and drive to Cottonwood Lodge. She would offer herself for work there. As a prostitute in a brothel. The muscles in her groin tensed involuntarily as she said the words to herself. A prostitute in a brothel. She went into the bathroom and used the toilet. Then back to the bedroom where she changed into a short, fitted cotton dress and made up her face lightly. *********************** It had been only 25 minutes since she finished speaking to Sophie but she left anyway. The journey seemed extraordinarily quick. There was no traffic, she got all the lights, and although she had not been to that street for years, she went directly without any wrong turns. She had turned into the street before she had really prepared herself. She saw that the businesses in the street seemed to be open, but there was little sign of activity. She saw the small sign saying Cottonwood Lodge as she drove past it but she did not slacken speed. All she had time to notice as she passed was that it was a brick house, quite old in style and painted an olive green colour, with a driveway at the side. She kept driving and turned left at the next corner. She kept making left turns until she found herself back in the street again and again approaching Cottonwood Lodge. This time when she reached the driveway she slowed, turned in without hesitation and drove directly down to the rear of the house. There was a large open space paved with concrete which had lines painted on it to indicate parking spaces. There were three cars parked there. She drove into a marked space, stopped and turned off the engine. She looked at the house. She could see no-one and no sign of movement. Off to one side there was a doorway with another small sign over it saying Cottonwood Lodge -- Entrance. Beside the doorway was a large window of reflective glass. She thought to herself that she could just drive out again. But instead she picked up her bag, opened the car door and got out and locked the door behind her. As she walked to the doorway she felt as though there were crowds of people watching her from all sides. Her legs seemed unable to move naturally; she had to work to keep them under control, to stop them kicking out at odd angles or giving way completely. "I'm a woman walking into a brothel," she thought to herself. She opened the door beneath the sign and found herself in a small room. There was a reception desk at which a woman was sitting. She looked about 40. She was heavily made up, solidly built and reasonably attractive, and wearing a tight one-piece dress with the top cut low enough to show the tops of her large breasts. There were several telephones on the desk. There was a video screen on the desk on which she could see the car park; she had not seen a camera as she walked in. Opposite the desk was an open doorway leading to a passageway. The room and the passageway were carpeted in red and the walls were cream-coloured. "Hello," said the woman, "I'm Sophie." "I'm Sheree," said Sarah. "I rang earlier. I got here sooner than I expected." "I thought that was who you'd be," said Sophie. "You want to talk about working here." "Yes," said Sarah. "Do you have any vacancies?" "Come in here and let's talk about it," said Sophie. She took Sarah into a room off the passageway. Sarah looked around. The room was dominated by a large bed with a deep red cover on it. There was only one chair. On the wall hung a large mirror and several "artistic" photographs of naked women. By the side of the bed was a cupboard on which there were a lamp, a clock and a box of tissues. Sarah noticed too that there was a shower that had been installed in a corner of the room, enclosed in glass. There was a central light that gave some dull illumination to the room. Sophie looked her up and down, appraising her. "Yes, we have vacancies. What do you know about working?" "Not much, really." "You've never done it before?" "No." "We're open from 11 am to 3 am every night, but 4 am Friday and Saturday. We have 2 shifts that overlap, one 11am to 8pm and one from 7pm till 3 or 4am. Standard booking is an hour, that's $250, but some want only half an hour for $150. Some want longer. You get 60%, the club takes 40%. That's good. Other clubs pay 50%. You pay for your own condoms but you can buy them here at the same price we pay for them in bulk. Average is 5 bookings day shift, 6 on nights. Per girl, so the money is good. No drugs or alcohol on the premises, no exceptions. The cops come and check about every three weeks and we don't get hassled as long as we keep clean. Sound OK?" "Yes," said Sarah. It was much as she had expected. Sophie looked at her. "Condoms are mandatory and if you're caught not using one you'll be out, no second chances. Lots of clients want to bareback but we don't want diseased girls here. You'll get lots of requests for anal and it's up to you whether you say yes or not. You won't last long if you're too fussy about who you're with. We don't accept guys who are completely pissed, but most of them have had a few and you'll have to put up with it and act like you're having fun. If you don't dress sexy and smile in the line-up, you won't get chosen and you won't make any money and you won't last long here. And you won't last long if you don't like sex." Sarah said nothing. "How old are you?" Sophie asked. "Twenty-three." "Can you handle all that?" "Yes." "Do you want to ask anything?" "What's the line-up?" asked Sarah. "It's not really a line-up. When a client arrives, the receptionist, that's me right now but it'll be someone else most of the time, takes him to the waiting room. That's the one next door; I'll show it to you on the way out. Then the girls go in one by one and say hello. The client might ask questions, like whether you'll do anal, whether you kiss, stuff like that. Then the receptionist asks him which one he wants and for how long. Then she goes and tells the girl. The girl goes and gets the client, takes him to a room. Fixes on what he wants, takes the money, tells him to have a shower and leaves him to it. She takes the money back to the receptionist, takes her cut and gives the receptionist the rest, picks up whatever she needs from the back room -- that's where all the girls wait around -- and goes back in to the client. And off they go." "Do I have to pay tax?" Sarah asked. "Tax is your individual responsibility," said Sophie. "We don't employ you. You're independent and your engagement with the client is between you and him. You pay us a fee for use of the room and facilities. But we have to keep records and we have to know who you are or we'll lose our licence, so you'll have to tell me your real name. I will know it and there are two other people who will know it, but it will be locked in a safe and we will not tell anyone unless the law compels us. What you tell the tax man about how much you earn is your business. I'd advise you not to tell him you're not earning anything. He'll find out you work here and if you say you're not earning anything he won't believe you. But maybe if you tell him about part of what you earn he'll accept it." "OK, I understand," said Sarah. Again it was what she had expected. "So the night shifts are 7 till 3?" "That's right. Four on Friday and Saturday." "How many shifts a week?" "As many as you want. Assuming you work out, of course. You'd be silly to do more than four. It takes too much out of you." "Could I do two?" "Yes." "Can I choose the nights?" "More or less. Except Saturday. Everyone wants Saturday." "I don't want Saturday. I was thinking Monday and Thursday." Sophie looked at her closely. "Today's Monday," she said. "I know," said Sarah. "Do you want to start tonight?" "Yes." "Why are you doing this?" asked Sophie. Sarah thought for a moment. She didn't need to explain anything to this woman. "I need the money," she said. Sophie did not comment. "OK," she said. "Seven o'clock tonight. Come and meet the day girls." ************************** Sophie took Sarah out of the room and down a hallway. Through a door at the end of the hallway was a large room furnished with two couches and four or five armchairs, all arranged around a large television. One wall of the room was fitted out as a small kitchen with a cooktop, cupboards, an electric kettle and a refrigerator. There were two makeup tables on other walls and an area in one corner separated from the rest of the room by a screen with an oriental design on it. There were three women in the room. They were watching the TV and all three were smoking. They all turned to look at Sarah as she came in. "Girls, meet Sheree," said Sophie. "Sheree, this is Crystal. Crystal, Sheree. And this is Lauren, Lauren this is Sheree. And Francesca, Sheree." Each of the girls smiled at Sheree as she was introduced and said, "Hi". Francesca was the most striking. She was tall and buxom with dark olive skin; her skin contrasted badly with the bleached blonde hair piled high on her head. She was heavily made up. She wore leopard skin tights that Sarah could see were at least a size too small, and a very tight, very low cut yellow jersey knit top, with her breasts spilling over the top of it. "My God," thought Sarah, "What a whore." Francesca looked friendly and her smile at Sarah had warmth in it. Lauren was also tall but of a much slimmer build. She wore a red dress. It was more modest than Francesca's outfit, but still tight and low cut. Her hair was brown and shoulder length and she had a slightly superior expression on her face. Sarah decided she was modelling herself on Lauren Bacall. Crystal was short and bouncy, with blonde hair and a big smile. She wore a dress, low cut and showing the tops of her breasts like the others and made of some silk-like material. Sarah liked her on sight. "Sarah's starting tonight," said Sophie. "She hasn't worked before, so be nice to her." "We were all virgins once," said Crystal, and she and Francesca laughed. "Don't worry, love, we'll look after you." "Thanks," said Sarah. Sophie led her out of the room and back to the door where she had come in. "If you want to work here then I need your real name and address I'll need to see some photo ID. I'll show you the safe where we keep your details if you like. If you don't show up tonight they'll be destroyed." Sarah had suspected this might be necessary, but Sophie seemed as straight as she had a right to expect. She took her driver's licence out of her bag and gave it to Sophie. Sophie checked her photograph, then pulled a form from a drawer in the reception desk and copied some information from the licence. She handed it back to Sarah. "You're still Sheree here. There'll be seven girls on tonight. About half the girls who say they'll start don't turn up on the first day." She looked at Sarah again. "I'm betting you'll be here, but I've been wrong before." "I'll be here at seven," said Sarah. ******************* Sarah parked her car outside her apartment building, went upstairs and into her apartment, walked straight to the bedroom and fell backwards on the bed. She was exhausted. She lay flat on her back for a few minutes with her eyes closed. She looked at the time: 4.30. To be back at Cottonwood Lodge by 6.45, she would have to leave at 6.15, which meant she would have to start getting ready at 5.15, which meant she should have something to eat soon. But not just yet. She was too tired. She slowly stretched her legs out straight, as far as she could. Then, still very slowly, she lifted her arms off the bed and stretched them straight out above her as if trying to reach the ceiling, feeling the muscles of her back stretch, then gradually lowered them sideways so that she was lying on the bed as if crucified. She raised her arms again, then lowered her hands to her face and slowly ran them down over her face and throat to her breasts. She squeezed her breasts and groaned softly. She ran her hands further down over her belly and hips and the outside of her thighs, and then up the inside of her thighs, under her skirt, to her groin. The arousal she had felt earlier had dissipated. She hooked her thumbs over the top of her knickers, lifted her buttocks and slipped her knickers down and off. Removing them completely brought her to a sitting position and she sat there for a moment on the edge of her bed, leaning slightly forward, the skirt of her dress ridden up her thighs, naked under it. "OK," she thought. Her energy had returned. She stood and walked quickly to the kitchen, made herself two sandwiches, ate them and drank a cup of coffee, then went into the bathroom. She took off her dress and bra and stood naked in front of the mirror. She looked at herself, at the patch of hair between her legs. "Why not?" she thought. It would be more hygienic and she had read somewhere that men liked it. She took a pair of scissors from the bathroom cupboard and cut off as much of her pubic hair as she could. A dark shadow was still visible when she had finished. She turned on the bath taps fully and the bath filled quickly. She sat down in it with two of the shavers she used under her arms. Shaving herself was not difficult. She did it twice. The first time removed most of the hair but left a rasping stubble. The second time took longer and left her absolutely smooth and slippery to the touch. She was lucky that she did not naturally have a lot of hair there, so it was not hard to remove it all, right around to her bottom. She had waxed her legs the previous day. When she had finished she pulled the plug out of the bath, stood up and, in front of the mirror, removed all traces of makeup from her face. She turned on the shower and washed herself thoroughly and shampooed and conditioned her hair. As she moved in the shower, she felt the smooth slipperiness of her thigh against her newly-shaved pubic delta; it was a new sensation for her and it made her clench again down there. She turned off the shower, dried her body, blow-dried her hair and sprinkled herself with talcum powder. She walked back to the bedroom and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The pale pink skin between her legs looked shockingly naked. Two lines sloping down and inwards forming a blunt vee, and a straight vertical slit bisecting the vee. She swallowed. She had never known what to call that part of herself; she just thought of it as "down there". "Pubic area" was ridiculous, and "pussy" she hated. "Vulva" was horrible. She had known the other word, of course, but it had always seemed too extreme, too brutal, to use. But now, as she stood there naked, her hips broad, her stomach curved, the blunt, slitted vee blatant between her legs, there was no doubt that what she had there, that vee with that slit, was a cunt. The day was hot but she shivered as she thought the word, the muscles in her cunt clenching. She felt herself becoming aroused again. Aroused not only at the word she had used, but at the thought of what she was going to do. Dress herself as a whore. Fuck a man for money. Become a prostitute. She shivered again. She dressed herself in a tracksuit and sneakers with a white bra and knickers underneath. She packed the clothes she planned to wear that night in a separate bag, hoping she was choosing the right things. 6.15. Time to go. ********************** The traffic was slower than it had been in the afternoon and she arrived at ten minutes before 7. The sun had gone down but it was still light and very warm. The street was deserted; the few factory doors that had been open during the afternoon were now closed. Sarah's heart again began to pound as she approached the house and swung down the driveway; it continued to pound as she parked her car, reached over the back for the bag containing her clothes, got out of the car and walked across the concrete to the door she had entered that afternoon. Inside was seated a different woman, this one about 30 and wearing a grey dress almost conventional in style but again cut tight and low. The brothel receptionist. "I'm Sheree," she said, remembering only just in time to use her made-up name. "I'm starting tonight. I saw Sophie this afternoon. She said to come at 7." The receptionist smiled at her, a professional smile. "I'm Carla," she said. "I'm on reception tonight. Do you know where to go?" "Yes, thanks," said Sarah. She walked down to the back room. There were no sounds from any of the rooms she passed; obviously there were no customers, clients, at that time. In the back room were four girls, the three she had met that afternoon and another. She said hello to them and they introduced the fourth girl, Emma. The television was still on. The three from the afternoon were due to finish their shifts at 8, but Emma was there for the night shift, like Sarah. She was sitting at one of the brightly lit makeup tables putting on makeup in front of a large mirror. Emma was short and skinny, with a bony face and spiked, punk-style dark hair with a purple streak through it. She had put black rings around her eyes and bright patches of blusher on her cheeks, and she was applying purple lipstick to her mouth. She was wearing a green dress with a high neckline, but very tight and with a very short skirt. Sarah thought she looked awful, but her manner was friendly and she smiled frequently and openly. Sarah's First Day "They were telling me it's your first day. You can get changed behind that screen over there, " Emma said, pointing. "Anything you want to know, just ask. It's probably a good idea if you change straight away. They'll all be arriving soon. I think there are six of us on tonight. It was going to be seven but Charlotte rang in to cancel." Sarah thanked her and went behind the screen. She took off all her clothes. She first put on her panties, a scarlet thong. Dressing as a whore. She looked at the matching red bra. "What for?" she asked herself, and left the bra in her bag. She had had no doubt about which dress to bring. She had not worn it very often and not for some time. It was scarlet and made of a synthetic satin that fitted very tightly down to the hips then flared out to a short, pleated skirt. It had a round, high neck and zipped up the back. The dress was even tighter than she remembered and she could get the zip only about half way up. Leaving it, Sarah put on her shoes, also scarlet, with high heels, then gathered her things in her bag and stepped back into the room. She caught Crystal's eye. "Would you mind zipping me up, please?" she asked. Crystal came over and said, "Turn around and let me have a go." Sarah turned, and Crystal tugged the panels of the dress together and zipped to the top. "Thanks," said Sarah, and turned round. "Wow!" said Crystal. "You couldn't get it any tighter if you tried. Don't breathe too deep!" and she laughed. There was a full-length mirror on the wall, in addition to the one above the makeup table. Sarah turned and looked at herself in it. Crystal was right. She must have put on a kilo or two since she had last worn it. The outline of each breast was clearly visible. Her nipples stood out in little points. Both makeup tables were empty for the moment and Sarah sat down at one. She did her hair first, brushing it back from her face as she normally did. She surveyed herself. Her skin was clear and a very pale olive colour, almost pure white. She applied foundation, not heavily but more than she usually used, and a very light blusher under her cheekbones. Then she did her eyes. She used eyeliner and mascara, and on the lids a brown shadow. She had been taught always to use a brush to apply lipstick, and she used one now to paint very carefully a line of deep crimson around the edges of her lips. Then she painted in the remainder, brushed her hair again and inspected the result. Her appearance was transformed from what she had seen in the bathroom mirror that afternoon. Then she had been an ordinary girl, pretty enough she supposed, but nothing extraordinary. Now she looked almost like a doll. Her hair was thick and very dark brown, almost black, as were her eyes, and they contrasted strikingly with the paleness of her skin. The liner around her eyes made them look enormous. Her mouth was a vivid, glossy, crimson gash. In the mirror she was all contrasts: scarlet dress, white skin, crimson lips, black eyes and black hair. The whore. As she had worked at the mirror more girls had arrived. Four of them came in together. Sarah was introduced as Sheree so many times she began to get used to the name. She managed to remember the names Cindy and Dionne but she missed the other two. Another girl arrived a little later who was Brandy. While all the arrivals were happening, Crystal was trying to explain how everything worked, showing her packages of condoms and tissues, towels, lubricant, talcum powder... it went on and on. Sarah thought she took in most of it. But not all of it. She couldn't concentrate properly. The sexual desire and the fear that had been with her all day had become intense. She was on edge, attenuated, listening all the time for the sound of the door, waiting for Sophie to appear and say that a − what? a customer? a client? a man? − had arrived. A man who was going to inspect her like a piece of merchandise and decide whether he wanted to fuck her or not. This was being a whore. Again her body clenched at the word. She began to clear away her makeup kit. There was a loud buzz which Sarah realised immediately must have been triggered by the door opening. The hubbub of the girls' chatter subsided immediately and the sound of indistinct voices could be heard through the open door of the room; Sarah recognised the voice of Carla, the receptionist, and the other was a man's voice. Then after perhaps half a minute's moment's silence, Carla appeared. "OK," she said. "One guy, nothing unusual, name of Tim. Hasn't said what he wants yet. Are you ready, Emma?" Emma stood up, leaving her cigarette burning in the ashtray, and adjusted her clothes. She was medium-sized, about 25 by the look of her, short dark hair. She wore a red tank top that was tight enough to show that she had no bra beneath it although her breasts were not large, and red jersey tights. Her bottom was large and the tights clung to it, clearly showing the cleft between her buttocks. As far as Sarah could tell she was wearing nothing beneath the tights. At the front her pubic triangle was clearly defined, with the seam between her legs cutting into her cunt. Above the waist she looked quite ordinary; below it she looked like a cheap slut. "Back in a second," she said as she left. She was right about the time; it seemed to Sarah that Emma had hardly disappeared before she was back in the room and dropping back into her chair. "Seems OK," she said. "Didn't say much. Off you go." Sarah was startled. She stood up, looked around for her handbag, then realised she didn't need it and hesitated for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. Then she collected herself. "OK," she said, "Back soon." She walked out the door. She heard the girls' voices behind her, presumably wishing her luck, but she was concentrating on where she was going. She walked down the hallway. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly, and everything looked so ordinary, just ordinary walls, ordinary carpet. She was at the door of the waiting room. It was closed. Should she knock? No. She swallowed, grasped the handle, turned it and walked in. The lights in the room were not bright but she saw a man standing there facing her. Just an ordinary man, about 30, brown hair, ordinary height, not fat, not thin, not anything. What should she say? What should she do? "Hi," she said. "I'm Sheree. I know you're Tim. How are you?" She put a smile on her face. He was looking at her body, top to bottom, appraising her face, her breasts, her hips, her legs. Every man she ever met did that. This one was deciding whether to buy her. "Hello Sheree," he said. "How are you?" "OK, thanks." So what now? She gave him another smile. Then without thinking, she said, "Well, this is me," and put her hands on her hips and turned a full circle in front of him, showing herself, making her skirt flare out. "Nice to meet you, Tim," she said with another smile. "See you later, maybe," and she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. She had to pause for a moment in the hallway to remember which way to go. She realised that her heart was beating as rapidly as if she had run a race and her whole body was filled with tension. She breathed deeply and walked down to the back room. He was going to choose her, she knew it. She knew it. In the room with the other girls again, she sat by herself, hardly seeing the remaining girls leave and return one by one, waiting for Carla to come and tell her what she already knew. Then suddenly Carla was there, and saying, "Sheree, it's you. An hour. I've taken him to the room. Room 4, next to the waiting room. He's showering now, and he's paid. Here." She held out some money to Sarah, who was still seated. Sarah took it. She was flustered. She felt all the other girls watching her. She stood and looked around herself for her handbag. The room had gone quiet. She found her bag but then had difficulty opening it. Her fingers did not seem to be working properly. Then the bag was open and she put the money inside. Should she have counted it? Should she count it now? She sat down again. "Smile!" called one of the girls. Was it Crystal? "It's not an execution, love." Sarah tried to laugh, tried to smile. How much longer should she wait before she left? "Don't worry about it, love," said Crystal. "He doesn't know it's your first time. You've seen him yourself. He's fine. He won't be any trouble. Wait till you get a drunk." At this the other girls all began talking again, competing with each other about who had had the worst client. It was time for Sarah to go. In the hallway again where it was darker and quieter she was able to regain a measure of control. She forced herself to breathe normally, but she could do nothing about the pounding of her heart. Her skin felt abnormally sensitive, and she was conscious of the silk of her knickers against the smoothness of her cunt. She could feel as she walked that she was wet. She found the right door. She grasped the handle, turned it and walked in. Tim was standing in the centre of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. The towel was damp and clung to him, and she could see the bulge of his genitals between his legs. "Hi, Tim," she said. "Hi," he replied. Her nipples were hard as pebbles and she felt them against the material of her dress. She was embarrassed by them, as if she were standing naked in public. She felt completely at a loss. She smiled nervously. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm new here. I'm not sure.... Would you like me to get undressed?" Perhaps she shouldn't have said she was new. He looked at her. "That would be nice," he said. She put her hands over her shoulders behind her back but could not reach the zipper. "Would you help me?" she asked, and walked over to him, turned, and stood with her back to him. He put his hands on her shoulders and found the zipper, and pulled it down, all the way down to her buttocks. Her dress fell away from her shoulders, and he pulled it down to her waist. "This is where it starts," she thought. She still had her back to him and she leaned back against him. His hands reached around her and grasped her breasts. She caught her breath as he squeezed them. Against her buttocks she could feel his cock stir beneath the towel. She rubbed her buttocks slowly against it, feeling it stir again, then moved away and turned to face him. Looking him in the eye, she slid her dress and knickers in one motion to the floor. She stood naked in front of him. "Maybe I shouldn't say this," she said, "but this is my first night." "Not just your first night here, but your first night ever?" "Yes." "Is this your first time?" "Yes." Why was she confessing this? He considered this for a moment. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked. "No," she answered, "but I'm going to do it anyway." "Why?" Sophie had asked her the same question. It had been none of her business and it was none of this man's. She looked at him again. He looked nice, kind. She said, "I want to see what it's like. To be a scarlet woman." A pulse of desire passed through her as she said it. What she had said was not the whole truth. The whole truth was that the thought of what she was doing was almost unbearably arousing. She stepped forward, pushing her breasts and hips against him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. His mouth was clean and fresh, thank God, and now she could feel his cock pressing between her legs. Still with her mouth on his, she reached down with one arm and pulled the towel from around his waist and dropped it to the floor. She put her hand on his hip, slid it around to his buttock, and then around the front again. She gripped his cock. It was hard now. With her other hand, she pushed him gently towards the bed. She watched him lie down on it then lay down herself next to him, facing him. He put his hand on her hip, and she moved slightly so that he could slide his hand between her thighs. She kissed him again as she slid her hand down and began to caress his cock gently. It was large and warm and hard. She felt his hand move down between her legs and she opened them, giving him the access to her cunt that he had paid for. He stroked her, and then his finger slid between her lips and inside her. She opened her legs wider for him. She was as wet as she had ever been. Her clitoris was tingling and each time he touched it she gave an involuntary shudder. "Just a moment," she said, and rolled over to reach the bag she had left on the bedside table. She found the condom. She knelt on the bed just below his waist and facing him, then moved her left knee in between his legs. He parted his legs and she knelt between then. His cock was directly in front of her and looked huge now that she was this close to it. She tried to tear open the little envelope containing the condom, but her fingers kept slipping and she had to put the corner in her mouth to grip it. Somehow she got the condom out of its package. The room was not brightly lit and it was difficult to see which way the condom unrolled, but she worked it out. She placed it on the top of his cock and began to unroll it, sheathing his cock. Then, looking in his eyes, she lowered her mouth on to his cock. It filled her mouth. She savoured its size, its warmth, its strength, loving this cock. She had seen pornographic pictures like this: a woman with big eyes looking at the camera, her red lips wrapped around an erect cock. She put her tongue against the tight skin at the base of the head, rasping her tongue against it as much as she could through the membrane of the condom, and felt his body tense sharply. Slowly she moved her lips up and down the shaft, taking the head as far into her mouth as she could. With her mouth she made love to his cock. She looked at him again with his cock between her lips: his face was strained, almost as if he were in pain, but at the same time ecstatic. She was controlling this man. She put her fingers around the base of his cock and rubbed slowly and gently up and down the shaft as she rasped her tongue against the underside again and again. She was a whore servicing her client. Her cunt kept clenching and she put her left hand between her legs and gripped it, stimulating her clitoris. She was on the verge of orgasm. She heard him ask, "Now?" She did not reply but drew her lips and tongue up the length of his cock and off it, then turned around so that they were both lying in the same direction on the bed. She rolled on her back and opened her legs for this man. He moved above her and between her legs, his cock nudging her thighs and belly and cunt. She reached down and took his cock in her hand placed it between the lips of her cunt. Slowly he slid it in. It seemed immense and she gasped as she felt it push insistently up inside her, huge, filling her. It slid against her clitoris and pressed hard against it. She knew she was right on the edge. She was panting hard, absorbed in the sensation of his cock inside her and pressing against her clitoris. She realized he was saying something. What was he saying? "So that's it," he was saying. "What? That's what?" She was finding it difficult to understand him, to concentrate on anything but his cock inside her cunt, moving relentlessly against her clitoris. "Now you're a prostitute." As he said it his cock stroked hard against her clitoris, pressing it, forcing it, and suddenly she was off the edge. She orgasmed immediately, violently. She could not stop herself; her hips jerked and jerked; she tried to say, "A prostitute," but the word would not come out properly. She could only say, "A pros..., " and again, "A pros...." as her cunt convulsively gripped and gripped his cock. Her body was in complete control of her, her hips jerking her cunt up around his cock again and again in full shuddering climax. With a force that made her groan the final spasm came, and she ground her cunt against his cock with all the force in her hips. Then she was done. But he was not done. She had come too quickly for him. He kept thrusting, kept withdrawing and thrusting, pressing repeatedly against her clitoris, reintensifying her arousal, until suddenly her body burst again into orgasm, a staccato series of jerks of her hips that drew his cock again in deep, deep; and this time with her own final spasm she felt the vastly powerful thrust of his own orgasm as he released his semen inside her and buried his cock up inside her. With her orgasm complete she could say it: "A prostitute. God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." ************************ Her body was subsiding. There were tears in her eyes; she was crying. She lay underneath this man, Tim, feeling his cock still pulsing inside her. She lay beneath him as he pushed out the last beats of his orgasm and then lay silent, his body heavy on her. They were both sweating. He spoke first, but as if to himself. "God," he said. "God." Then, collecting himself, "Thank you," he said. "That was unbelievable. Thank you." Her crying had stopped. She said nothing. She could not speak. They lay silent. She found it hard to think. That had not been the fulfilment of a contract. That had been a fuck. She felt shattered, wasted, spent. He said, "Perhaps I'd better get off. I'm getting soft." "I'm sorry," said Sarah. "I didn't mean to get carried away. It's because I'm not used to it. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry," he said. "Why be sorry? It was wonderful. Wonderful. Thank you so much. I feel honoured." She felt that she might cry again. She must not cry. She was reaching her hand down between her legs, finding his cock inside her with her fingers in the slippery, sticky wetness, then finding the condom on his cock and holding it in place as slowly he withdrew from her. When he was out he rolled off her and on to his back. On his cock the condom held safely its deposit of white semen. She let go of his cock and he held the condom in place himself as she turned to find the box of tissues beside the bed. She saw the clock. She was supposed to keep time, but she had forgotten to see what time it was when she came in. Oh, well. She supposed she had been there about 20 minutes. It was 10 to eight, so he had until 8.30. What were they going to do? She pulled three tissues out of the box and handed them to him, then gave him another three. She watched while he struggled to pull the condom off his cock and wrap it in the tissues without its load of semen escaping. When he had finished and wiped himself clean he handed the wad of sticky tissues to her. She put them on the floor beside the bed. She lay down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬ _______________________________ I would like to thank Literotica volunteer editor MsBerry for reading this edited version of my original story before I submitted it for publication. Wanda _________________________________