The Anniversary

My husband was jealous of other men. He was jealous of women, too, but he didn't mind when I fucked the hooker on our anniversary.

It was our second year of marriage and I surprised him with a weekend in romantic Bardstown. If you've never considered Bardstown a romantic place, then you're not a bourbon drinker. We were bourbon drinkers. We sped down the highway fueled by booze and speed, because that was how we did everything then. Life was an adventure - an adventure made only more exciting by the alchemy of amber.

The speed kept us going despite the alcohol, so when we got to the hotel we were able to change relatively quickly into our fancy dress. We were going for a ride on the Old Kentucky Dinner Train, where $100 buys you a steak dinner served on a swaying table. That was a lot for us to spend, but we did get a free cocktail at the station, and an extra hundred loaded us up on beer and LITs. Before the dinner ended we were rolling faster than the train.

Coincidentally, we were assigned to a table with another couple celebrating a wedding anniversary. Clearly the Old Kentucky Dinner Train was a popular spot for lovers! Not much for small talk, we mumbled through the formalities of introduction before settling on the topic of our accommodations. Our tablemates had chosen what had once been a high-class Bardstown hotel, but they told us it had gone downhill. In fact, they said, they could see prostitutes cruising up and down the outside stairs. The couple was appalled.

I was not appalled. My eyebrows lifted when they told us there were whores at their hotel. I got a little jealous that, in our own open lot, I hadn't seen a one! Hurriedly, I finished my meal, my thoughts lingering on the couple's good fortune as the waiter brought us a congratulatory dessert. I ducked my head and ate it, rescuing myself from the awkward conversation for the remainder of the tour.

After we said our goodbyes and disembarked, I placed a hand on my husband's arm, partly to show affection, and partly to help myself stand. Walking on heels while drunk was a hazard of the lifestyle. I looked at him with a wicked smile, knowing if he responded poorly I could always brush my suggestion off as a little joke. "We should get one of those prostitutes," I said.

He laughed. "No way! Those hookers are crawling with disease." But the die had been cast, and we joked off and on about the subject as we swerved through a liquor store (to buy, ironically, a bottle of Lawrenceburg whiskey) and back to our whore-free hotel.

We let ourselves in and collapsed on the bed, leaned against the creaky headboard, and broke out our Four Roses, taking deep pulls without bothering to pour. We should have passed out by then, but the speed allowed us to enjoy the deep inhibition that only the best kind of drunkenness can bring. After an hour or so I looked at him more seriously. "We really should get that prostitute."

To my surprise, he agreed. Despite his jealous vein, he had known I was bi since the start of our relationship, and I knew from his dirty bedroom talk it had crossed his mind. To recruit a lover - not to buy one. But all in all, it really was the same.

Neither of us knew how to go about buying a girl. I found the seediness of the stairwell whores enticing. He did not, so we reached for the same tool we used to shop for tires and psychiatrists: the Yellow Pages. Sure enough, we found three pages devoted to escorts. A veritable gold mine of sin.

We picked a service, I don't remember how, and called for the rates. $200 an hour, we were told, money we decided without question we could spend. The dispatcher told us it would take 45 minutes for our girl to arrive, and it would be cash only. That gave us plenty of time to get to an ATM, which we did, and buy condoms, which excited me since we had never used them ourselves and the thought of him rolling one on to fuck another girl was both novel and hot. We returned to our hotel, a little nervous, and proceeded to wait.

Two hours later we were still waiting, resigning ourselves to the fact that our escort would never arrive, when we were delighted by a knock on the door. I opened it, still dressed in my dinner clothes, in stark contrast with the hooker's unexpected tank top and sweats. "Sorry," she said, snapping gum. "I got lost."

I stepped out of the way to let her in, suddenly bashful, but before I could say anything she took the proverbial wheel. "Can I use your bathroom?" she asked.

"Sure."

She walked casually to the back of the room and let herself in, coming out a few minutes later in her bare feet, wearing nothing but a plain white thong. Short and blonde, she had an all-right face but a cute body, firm and a little plump. There was a touch of baby fat around her waist that turned me on. She had soft breasts with no implants, thank God. "What are you looking for?" she asked, her expression bored.

My shyness made it hard to negotiate. "My husband's never seen me with a girl," I managed to say. She didn't seem surprised, and gave me a look up and down.

"Well, at least you're pretty," she remarked, and maybe meant. I chose to believe her.

I sat down on the bed and she came over to me, standing between my legs and moving more like a stripper than a whore. I wasn't sure what we would be getting, but I liked it. I hadn't been close to a pair of tits in a long time, and hers were practically suffocating my face. She leaned down to put her hands on my shoulders, and kissed me. "Take off your clothes."

I slipped easily out of my bright red heels. My dress buttoned down the front and I fumbled with the buttons until she pushed me back on the bed and finished the job, sliding down my panties and then hers as I managed the front clasp of my bra. She lay heavily against me, scissoring her thigh between my legs and grinding down, her breasts pushing down against my own. I wrapped my arms around her back and pushed against her, feeling the warmth spread across me from the center out. When she arched her back her breasts lifted. I moved my hands around her body, touching them tentatively, then more insistently as my timidity was taken over by my greed. Hungry now, I moved my fingers to her nipples to stroke and tease, pinching softly as I felt them hardening beneath my touch. She gave a practiced moan and kissed my neck, then lower, tonguing her way down my abdomen to my crotch.

I was horny but hesitant. I wasn't interested in being the recipient of oral sex. My husband licked a pussy with more skill than any woman I'd fucked had ever matched, and his love for the act ensured I got that pleasure all the time. I let her have her way for a minute or two, long enough to know that she was no exception to the rule, then pulled her up and pushed her off, moving quickly across her body, shifting my hands and then my tongue to the breasts that had become perfect in my eyes. It was my turn now to kiss my way down until I reached the slippery spot I craved to taste.

I ran my tongue across her shaven lips and felt her jump. Slowly I moved inward, tonguing my way leisurely towards her clit. I flicked it gently, hearing her moan more sincerely as I pushed two fingers in, pressing upwards just far enough to hit the G. As she writhed against my hand, I lifted my face to glance at my husband, sitting six feet away in the hotel chair. He had undressed, and was sitting with his legs open, one hand resting between his legs on his hardened cock. Feeling his eyes on me set me on fire. I watched him stroke himself for a minute, then went back to my work, sucking now on her swollen clit and moving my fingers more forcefully inside her cunt.

Blissful but aware, I heard my husband lift himself from the chair and move behind me, placing his hands around my waist as I licked and sucked. He pushed himself against my ass, breathing hard. "Does that feel good?" he asked. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or the hooker, but we both responded with whimpers of desire. Feeling his cock against me while tasting her strong juice had me soaking wet. My voice was muffled against her folds but I knew he understood as I begged him to push it in. He stepped back, brushing his cock against my pussy, teasing me.

"Please," I said, more loudly. "I want you to fuck me so bad." He moved forward again and obliged, thrusting in roughly, giving me what I wanted hard enough to hurt. He was as excited as I was. Slamming into me, I felt his body slap against my ass as he filled me up.

He bent and whispered in my ear. "I'm going to fuck your ass while you eat that pussy." His motions were so coarse it scared me, but he moved his cock up before I could object. He spread my cheeks and I felt him throb against my hole. There was no need for lube. Between the strippers spit and my own hot juice the head of his cock broke through easily. Still I yelped as he forced his way in and began thrusting until I thought he would tear me apart. The pain was sweet. I selfishly pulled my fingers from the hooker's cunt so I could rub my clit. Bracing myself against the bed with my other hand, I licked her furiously as he brutally stabbed in and out. I could feel my orgasm mounting, and fast. I rubbed myself harder and harder until I came, crying out, making myself hoarse. After my waves ceased and I quieted, he pulled himself from my ass and fell on his back beside us, grinning smugly as he always did after making me come. It was his turn now.

Still smiling, he reached for the nightstand, grabbing the box of condoms and tearing it open, taking one out and ripping through the package with his teeth. He rolled it on and the hooker picked up on the cue. So did I. I got out of the way and sat naked in the chair to watch.

She started to straddle him but he pushed her back and rolled her onto her stomach. I wasn't surprised. It was buyer's call, and I knew what he liked to look at when he came.

She was wet and open, too. I had wondered how it would feel to watch him fuck another girl, and I was about to find out. He held her prone on the bed, pressing her arms out and to the side, pinning her hands beneath his own so she could barely move. Shifting his hips, he positioned his cock beneath her rounded ass and began to push. "You're so tight," I could hear him whisper. "Your pussy feels so sweet."

What? Those were the same words he said to me whenever we fucked. I wondered briefly if he meant them, then decided I really didn't care. Her face was pressed into the bed. She was moaning into the mattress and making me crazy all over again.

It didn't take long for him to come. Again, it was buyer's call, and her pleasure was none of our concern. Besides, we were running out of time. He collapsed against her back, lying there catching his breath before rolling off.

And what happened next, dear reader? She rose and dressed, we passed her the two hundred we owed her, and she made for the door. After all, you don't pay a hooker to fuck you - you pay her to leave.