I am daydreaming on the train on my way to my next ‘consultancy’ appointment. Yes, I am starting my fourth year with Colin, having just signed a two-year extension to my contract. Why? My mind is still conflicted with my body over what I am doing.
Ken, though, is still very keen on my professional and private activities and encourages me to explore my true self, as he calls it. Over the last few years, we have also become accustomed to the lifestyle, and the extra money is no drawback either!
Arriving at Euston, I pull myself back into the present, alight from the train, and make my way to the hotel.
It’s an odd one tonight. I had a meeting a few months ago with the guy I am meeting again tonight. Just a meal and a chat, no sex. His request took me by surprise, and I had to discuss it with Ken before I committed to it.
He wants to be my pimp for a night, hiring me as a cheap prostitute. We will be going to a private ‘Gentleman’s’ club, where they hire rooms by the hour. All I have to do is pick up clients, take them to the room and service them. He suggests that it will be two to three men per hour, but that will be up to how successful I am or want to be. He will take fifty percent of my earnings and pay for the room.
Guide prices are fifty pounds for straight sex, thirty for ordinary oral sex, and anything else by negotiation.
Ken thought it was a great idea and loved the idea of me being used by up to a dozen men. That’s five more than when we went dogging; he pointed out. That was true when I went with him; it was nine less than when I went by myself!
So it is I am being pimped out as a cheap prostitute tonight. The room is booked for four hours, starting at nine pm. I will meet my client in the bar at eight o’clock and travel by taxi to the club; so I have two hours to have a light meal and get myself ready.
John, my client, is waiting at the bar as I enter the lounge at eight o’clock. He sees me and waves me over.
“Well, you certainly look the part, slutty but upper class with it.” John enthused. “We have time for a quick drink; what would you like? John continued.
“Tonic water with lemon, please,” I reply, “and thank you, I thought going posh might make me stand out a bit.” Shaking my cleavage to emphasize the point.
I am wearing a body-hugging deep red dress with a low-cut neckline, the hem coming mid-thigh with a slit to one side, which nicely shows my stocking top. The coup-de-grace, though, is the full-length zip at the front. Tempting for any man and making for easy removal too.
My underwear is equally practical, with no bra and open-crotch knickers in a matching red.
The concierge approaches us.
“Your taxi is here, sir.” He announces.
John takes my hand, and we walk out to the taxi.
“The club is in Bermondsey, just over Tower Bridge; we will be there just before nine o’clock. Traffic willing.” He informs me.
Arriving a few minutes early, John ushers me through the rather run-down front doors and into a dingy bar area.
“Hi John,” the barman shouts, “You’ve got the tart for tonight, I see; nice too.”
I take no notice of the comment and look around at the prospective ‘punters,’ expecting John to show me the room before we get into the evening’s shenanigans.
“Here you are, guys, as promised, one upper-class tart for your delectation,” John announces as he pushes me toward a group of men. “Sorry, change of plan,” he grins at me as I turn to look at him.
Before I can say anything, I am pulled into the group, and a game of pass the tart ensues. I am being passed around the room, hands mauling at my body, not violently but enthusiastically. Being spun, turned, and pushed about, I cannot know how many men are here. It does seem to be a lot.
Then someone grabs me from behind, pulling me tight against his body. Another guy, wearing a large grin, steps up and catches hold of my zipper. Slowly but firmly, he pulls it down, exposing my boobs, then my stomach, and lastly my panties, as he completely unleashes my dress.
Cheers and raucous comments fill the air, getting louder as the man behind me divests me of my dress, then pushes me toward the waiting horde. Passing the tart starts again. Not for long, though, as John shouts out.
“OK, that’s the taster session; you pay for anything else.”
He grabs my arm and leads me away and into a private room.
“Now you start earning your money,” he grunts as he pushes me, face down, over a padded table.
He deftly ties my arms by my side and my legs to the table legs, leaving my pussy exposed and available. It must be a massage table as my face fits into the cut-out bit, I am left looking at the floor. Now he puts earphones on me, playing some ghastly whale song music, and I can hear nothing either.
It is so disorientating, being blind and deaf, I have no idea of what is going to happen until it does.
Slap, a hand ravages my bum cheeks, and again. Then fingers roughly explore my pussy, checking for wetness, I assume. He will not be disappointed! His cock follows and slams into me, the padding on the table saving me from too much pain; again and again, he slams for all he’s worth. He pulled out after three thrusts, shooting his seed all over my back, and then he was gone. This will be a short evening if they are all like that.
They’re not; some take their time, others not so much. There are gentle and not-so-gentle, a variety, as to be expected, and oddly most seem to pull out and cum over me rather than inside me. None of them have come near to providing me with any pleasure, and the angle of entry isn’t helping either. Entering my pussy at the wrong angle to tease my G-spot.
The earphones are removed, and John releases me, sitting me up gently on the table.
“Here, drink this,” he says as he hands me a bottle of water.
“You OK to stand?”
I nod and slip onto the floor. John leads me out of the room and into another, a bathroom.
“Clean yourself up; I will wait outside.”
I sit on the loo, letting the cum drain out of my aching pussy. I take off my hold-up stockings and then step under the shower. The warming water brings my aching muscles back to life. Drying myself off, I notice my clothes aren’t here. I step out to John.
“That’s better, isn’t it,” John grins at me and leads me back to the room. Bugger, I thought this was over. John sees the bemused look on my face.
“Oh, it’s not over. You’ve only been here two hours,” He can’t stop grinning as he pushes me onto the table again, face up this time. My arms are tied by my side again, with my legs pulled back at the knees and tied to the head end of the table. Exposing my pussy nicely!
“OH, that’s lovely; it’s gaping open and ready,” says the grinning fool.
He proceeds to put a blindfold and earphones on me, once again deaf and blind. Again I wait in anticipation.
No warning, no preamble. A cock enters my pussy. OH, that’s better, I think, with a sudden shock as this cock runs over my G-spot, bringing a tingle to my body.
Thrust and repeat, this guy is good and lasts a long time before he fills me with his warm seed. I didn’t quite make it myself, but it is promising. My body is responding like it usually does, despite my mind’s misgivings.
For another two hours, my body is used as an instrument of pleasure by a myriad of men and their cocks, but this time I am being pleasured too. Not too often, but enough to be satisfying.
This must be the end. My legs and arms are being released, and the earphones and blindfold are removed, causing me to blink in the sudden light.
Another bottle of water is offered, and John leads me from the room but not to the bathroom. Back to the bar area.
“Here she is, guys; how about a big round of applause for tonight’s tart,” John shouts out.
The room erupts into a frenzy of cheering, clapping, and raucous comments.
I do my best to please them, giving them a twirl and a curtsy and blowing kisses to them.
John puts his arms in the air and calls for calm.
“Some of you have requested seconds; we don’t have time for that, but if you wish, you can get your cocks out and wank-off over her,” he suggests.
Damn, I’m glad he didn’t agree to seconds!
John looks at me, “Don’t worry, it will wash off.”
It seems everybody wants some of that action. Johns leads me into a different part of the club and lays me down on the floor, which is washable and cold!
“Spread yourself open and let them cover you in cum; I might even join in,” he grins. He is always grinning!
I am surrounded by wanking guys, waving their cocks like rampant hosepipes. Pointing and shooting in all directions, I join in their fun and roll around the floor, running my hands over my body. Spreading the cum and rubbing it into my skin, even licking my fingers, to the apparent enjoyment of those watching.
Everyone is done, and I am liberally coated in sticky, drying cum tightening against my skin. I need a shower or two or three!
John leads me back to the bathroom, and I take an age cleaning myself off. My hair takes forever to get clean; there are no shampoos, of course! This time my dress is here; my stockings are where I left them but are too wet to put back on; so I leave them here. My crotchless knickers have survived the night and are still on me! They have earned their keep!
When finished, I step out to the waiting John.
“I do apologize for the change in scenario, I confess this is what I wanted, and I didn’t think you would agree. I will give you all the money earned tonight to compensate you, and the guys chipped in another two hundred pounds for the cum shower. They loved you joining in and performing as you did.” He worriedly gushed.
“There’s no harm done; it was a bit disconcerting being blind and deaf but also a bit of a turn-on. All the guys were respectful and didn’t abuse me beyond the obvious usage. I take it you enjoyed yourself?” I gently replied. “But next time, choose some better music; I like jazz.”
Have I just volunteered to do this again? I must learn to keep my mouth shut. By the look on John’s face, I have.
“OH yes,” he splutters, “they all think I am a great player and can get all the girls I want.”
“Is that true? getting all the girls.” I tease, knowing full well he can’t.
“Sadly not, but my money can, and what’s the point of having money if not to enjoy and perhaps delude myself?” He confesses happily.
We leave and travel back to the hotel, he hands me the money in the taxi, and I stuff it between my boobs for safekeeping.
Saying our goodnights in the foyer, I head up to my room. On entering, I pull my zipper down to remove my dress, scattering the cash I had stashed all over the floor. Bugger, that can wait. I leave it and run my bath, nice and hot with lots of bubbles. Bliss as I slide my body smoothly onto the deep water, luxuriating in the warmth and aroma of my Badedas bubble bath.
Feeling thoroughly refreshed, I climb out of the bath and put my robe on; feeling peckish, I call down to room service and order a prawn sandwich.
I’d better clear up that money before my sandwich is delivered; it might make me look like a whore I chuckle to myself.
All gathered up; I start counting it while I wait.
HOW MUCH? I shout to myself. Two thousand three hundred and fifty pounds! Wait, so that’s, hang on, two hundred extra for the cum shower and fifty per man. That’s forty-three cocks in one night!! Why is my pussy not sore? Probably because nobody took much time; they were all about pleasing themselves, not me.
God, I really am a whore; my body is tingling in excitement at the thought of forty-three cocks ravaging me. My rational mind tells me this is another story Ken will not hear!
