Hooker for the Day

John had talked about this to me in length when we chatted on line, actually. Sex with his wife was a joke, he told me. He'd practically have to beg for sex, and then he had to follow her rules. Rule one was that she had to be pleasured first. There were many times when she simply couldn't be aroused; in those cases John was sent to the shower. On those occasions when she did cum, he had only a few minutes to climax himself. This game was her way of maintaining control over John. He despised the feeling of being powerless. He decided to stay with his wife for the kid's sake, but vowed that he would never allow a woman to control him again.

This suited me fine, actually. With my soon to be ex-husband, I was always the one calling the shots. And it was more than just about my dominance in bed. I made all the decisions, ranging from what to serve for dinner, where to go for vacation, or where to open the checking account. Even though we never produced children, I always felt like I was a mother, with Cal being the obedient son. As a result, I didn't respect Cal at all. What I wanted was a man like John, who would show me by his actions that he was squarely in charge. I wanted to feel sexually attractive in my own right.

Tied up in John's bed, with his cock rammed down my throat, I was finally feeling desirable. His raging hard-on told me all that I needed to know.

John started fingering my nipples, which responded favorably to his touch. He traced his fingers along my waist. His fingers landed on my pussy again. He hooked his fingers inside my vagina, found the g-spot, and pushed down hard. Despite what he had just said about not pleasing me, he was doing exactly what it took to arouse me. My breathing grew heavier and I started to moan in a low tone. I was very close to cumming when John suddenly pulled his fingers out of my pussy. He touched my nipples again, realizing that he had caused them to pop up. For John, it was an issue of control. He was exploring his fuck toy, yet at the same time, demonstrating control over the situation.

Without saying a word John untied my legs and arms. Shaking my extremities but still in handcuffs, John barked out, "Over to the window, slut. Put your arms over your head, lean up against the window, and spread your legs." Without hesitation, I moved towards the window. The sun was glaring in my face, so I shut my eyes. Once again, I wondered if others were watching the show. "Good, slut. I want you to hold that position until I release you."

As I leaned against the window waiting for my next instruction, John made a call on his cell phone.

I heard, "Bruce, wanted to make sure you got in. I set up a tee time for 5:00. Does that work for you? Good. Yeah, I had an uneventful trip. Thanks for asking. Oh, no drinks for me. I'm getting some rest now." There was a long pause and then John continued, "God damn, Bruce, every time we go to one of these conventions you are always looking for some pussy." John then laughed and continued in a subdued voice, "Actually, I've got a hooker in my room right now. No, really, I'm serious. Tall, skinny drink of water, amazing tits and legs, and a nympho at that. Anyhow, obviously I got to run. See you in an hour or so."

I was actually a bit confused by John's comments. He told me that he was CEO of a mid-sized defense contractor, and that he wanted to come here specifically to avoid running into people that he knew. But now it sounded like he was here for the convention. When you are having an affair, there is often deceit ... to protect your identity. To be honest, it didn't really matter to me if he was an attorney, CEO, or garbage collector. It was curious, though.

I could hear John reclining on the bed, still watching the porn movie. He called out to me, "I wonder how many of these other guests are jerking off to the vision of your sweet body. I think we should give them quite a show, don't you?"

"Yes, master," I replied, still spread eagle against the picture window.

John approached me. From behind me he fingered my tits, followed the curves of my body with his hands. He then slapped my ass quite hard. Instinctively I jumped. John scolded me, saying, "I did not release you, bitch. Stay still."

My hands firmly planted on the large pane of glass, I was ready to maintain control. He swatted me a few more times. My ass was stinging, but I didn't move. Then there was a moment of silence. I felt his hard cock press up against my pussy. Finally, I thought to myself. I've been waiting for him to fuck me.

With a hard jerk, John entered me. His hardness was such a turn on. I had only fucked four men in my life, but none as large as John. I was wet, sure, but all the same I didn't expect that he would fill me up so completely. John started pounding my pussy from behind, and with such force. I struggled to maintain my balance. With each thrust, the handcuffs clicked against the window pane. I felt his cock bumping up against my cervix. Immediately I found my vagina walls contracting. And yet at the same time, I felt crampy from his deep thrusts. With tears forming in my eyes, I started to moan.

"Oh, you like my cock, don't you bitch?"

Unable to say anything, I nodded. He continued to pound me, now harder then ever. My moaning became louder. John laughed, and then with a hint of disdain in his voice commented, "You nympho whore!" John was not only tall, but solid, with a bit of a middle-age paunch. As he threw his weight into me, I started to lose my balance. He grabbed my hips and continued to plow into me. With the steady rhythms, and his cock pounding my g-spot, I could feel an orgasm building. More than anything, I wanted to cum. If I were too noisy, he might deny me that pleasure. I bit my lip and tried to keep quiet. The convulsions were starting, and they were without a doubt the most intense I had ever experienced. At this point, it couldn't be stopped. Even if John were to pull out, I would still experience the most mind-blowing orgasm in my life. With little control over what was to happen next, I moaned loudly. "Oooooh, yes, John. Yes." My back arched, trying to savor the feeling. I was electrified, feeling the waves of pleasure spread to my extremities. I felt tired yet satisfied. John continued to slam his manhood into my hot wet pussy. He had no interest in cumming with me. I was, after all, his fuck toy for hire. It was all about him.

I was getting visibly tired and felt a bit dizzy. "John, I think I need to take a break."

As he pulled out of me, my knees buckled. I started to collapse. He removed his hands from my hips. With one hand, he pulled my hair up, like a high ponytail. "I'm not your John. I'm your master." He pushed me against the glass, reentered me and continued pounding, adding, "This cunt is mine as long as I want it."

Without a doubt, he was demonstrating control over me. He continued hammering me, showing no signs of letting up. Slowly I began to regain some strength, feeling steadier on my feet. John pulled out again.

"Don't go anywhere, whore. Keep your arms against the window."

John slipped into the bathroom and a minute later I head the toilet flush. He turned off the TV; the pay-per-view movie long over.

"Over here, slut," he commanded. I turned back toward the room. John was sitting on the corner of the bed with his legs spread. Despite the marathon fuck session and the bathroom break, he maintained his erection. I didn't mean to stare, but his cock was impressive. My soon-to-be ex was a totally different man. Cal would tend to cum quickly, and there was rarely a second time. John, ten years older than Cal, showed no signs of slowing down.

In a voice almost sounding kind, John instructed, "Arms out. He held the key to the handcuffs, and unlocked my hand restraints. He placed both the key and the cuffs in my hand. John added, "Put them away." I turned towards the table and walked slowly towards my purse, aware that John was watching me walk, still in heels, stockings and a garter belt.

John centered himself on the mattress, hands tucked behind his head. "Paige, honey, bring that mouth of yours over here." I climbed on the bed and awaited further instructions. "Slow and seductive this time. Give me your best blow job." On my knees, I leaned over and lightly kissed his solid cock. The kisses turned wet. With his pole now well lubed, I placed my one hand at the base of his cock and started stroking him rhythmically. My other hand rested on his balls; I tugged them in a gentle downward motion. I then pushed my mouth over the tip of his cock. John moaned appreciatively, adding, "Nice work, Paige." As I continued my work, he reached over and touched my silk stockings. He traced the top of his stockings with his finger, and then moved up to my labia, where two fingers plunged into my wetness. I could feel one finger hook into my ass. I moaning involuntarily, creating a vibration on John's stiff member. I released my hands from his cock, and deep throated him as best I could. I pulled out slowly, licked his shaft sloppily, and then took his balls into my mouth – one at a time. I licked the area behind his balls towards his ass, and then mounted my mouth over his cock once again. In a low voice, John said, "Ooooooh, Paige. Ooooooh." He pushed his hands on the back of my head for maximum penetration, as he had done earlier. I felt a rush of warm cum filling in the back of my throat. "Ooooooh," John continued, "That's so fucking good, whore." He held my head down for quite some time. In an attempt to breathe, I swallowed hard. Eventually John let go of my head. I pulled up, caught my breath and coughed.

"Well done, slut. Well done."

He paused and added, "Listen, girl, we're about done. Before you get dressed I want you to bring your purse over here." I was perplexed at his request, but popped up and fetched my purse.

"Get dressed now, but remember, no panties." I headed towards the bathroom, with my bra, jacket and skirt retrieved from the floor. A few minutes later I returned fully dressed. My hair and make up were a bit mussed, but the body was looking just as hot as ever. My jacket was exploding with cleavage, my nipples protruding through the fabric. The short skirt was positioned right below the top of my stockings. And I had those killer "hooker heels." Paige was about to make her grand exit before returning to her normal life.

John was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Girl, one last thing. Come here. Let me see that ass again." I turned around and leaned over. John pulled my skirt up. I felt something odd and turned around towards John. With cherry red lipstick in his hand, John wrote something on my ass. He then returned the lipstick to me, saying "Five eleven."

"Pardon me?" I asked.

"Room five eleven," he began to explain. "On the way out, knock on the door. When the man answers the door, turn around and lift your skirt. Say nothing. Just walk away. Got it?"

I nodded. This final assignment perplexed me. But I had learned to trust John. I liked all of his challenges ... getting dressed up, coming here. Certainly I could pull off one last task.

"Five eleven," I repeated.

"Good," he replied, expecting me to leave, opening the door for me.

This closure between us was odd, really. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell him that I had a great time, that I was ready to hook up with him again. But somehow it didn't seem appropriate. We could do that on line later.

I did carry out his final request. I knocked on the door of Room 511. A distinguished man in silver hair and glasses answered the door. I surmised this was John's golf buddy. I turned around and lifted my skirt. I heard the man laugh, and then I left. Once in the lobby, I stopped in the powder room. Not only did I need to freshen up my makeup and run a brush through my hair, but I was certainly not going to drive five hours with lipstick on my ass. Curious about what was written, I leaned over and lifted my shirt, checking out the reflection in the mirror. It read, "Tony's," with an arrow pointing at my pussy.

Tony? I guess he used his middle name socially after all.

After removing the lipstick from my ass, I opened my purse, looking for my brush. Apparently John, er, Tony stuffed a wad of bills in my purse. We never talked about it really, but he wasn't supposed to actually pay me. I wondered, what did I say that I charged? $200 an hour or something. I hoped he actually didn't pay me $400. I slowly counted the wad. As it turns out, he paid me $500. God, why did he have to do that? I got just as much pleasure out of it as he did. I thought John understood that.

I left the restroom, walking past "The 19th Hole," half hoping that John and his friend would meet up there before tee time. If John was in the bar, I would try to return the money to him. Except the only familiar face was the bartender. I turned around and headed toward the lobby.

Behind me I heard a voice call out, "Teresa!" Over the last few hours I had grown to know John's voice. It wasn't his. Perhaps it was my divorce lawyer. Wouldn't that be an odd coincidence, that he would be attending this convention? Oh, I really didn't want my attorney to see me dressed like a high class hooker. Maybe it was someone calling for another Teresa. It's a common name, after all.

I turned around and saw a tall man gaining on me. "Teresa, are you OK? I was so worried when you didn't show up."

I studied his face for about ten seconds. And then a strange, almost repulsive feeling came over me.

"John?" I asked.