Turning Tricks

There I was, stuck in the biggest quandary of my life. To stay, tolerating this horrific attack on my psyche, or to flee, and possibly loose everything. Tough decision, considering the circumstances.

It started, as most things do, in the midst of a heated argument. I'd never admit it to him, but god, he was sexy when he was furious. I love how the tiny muscle in his jaw ticks when he clenches his teeth, his dark eyes blazing. I love how he stands so straight, his fists clenched, speaking in a deceptively collected tone. In truth, sometimes I prod just to get him started.

This was one of those times.

He had taken me out that night to dinner. The restaurant was magnificent, of course. Leave it to him to pick quality. He wore a fitted green cashmere turtleneck, dark jeans, his belt, and black boots. Very euro-trend especially paired with his tall, almost lanky form, and that shock of tousled black hair. He was quality, himself. I was on his arm, and proud to be there. My long, dark red hair was piled high on my head, and I had gone understated in the timeless 'little black dress', my heels high and pulling my calf muscles taunt, stretching my legs for seemingly miles.

Throughout dinner, I kept instigating glances from the men at the surrounding tables. When I would catch them admiring my full, soft breasts, I would level my eyes, letting them know I appreciated their admiration. The intimate setting, paired with the murmur of other pairs, made me feel cherished and very, very sexy.

Glancing around the room, he and I played the game that had grown as familiar to me as the curve of his shoulder, making him smile for the first time that evening. Leaning over, my dark red lips millimeters from his ear, I whispered, "Three o'clock- beside the potted ferns, see her?" When he nodded his head slightly, and shifted his weight toward me, I continued.

"It's textbook", I said, my breath sliding over his earlobes - a lovers caress. "Don't you see how she's sitting close, but her legs are crossed away from him? Her foot is tapping in her 4inch mules, even though she has the face of complete interest... and although his hand is on her thigh and inching upward, her legs remain tightly crossed." I sat back, satisfied with myself, and looked over to him for his agreement.

The couple I was referring too held his attention, his dark eyes scanning the homely older man who was fumbling with the young, gorgeous blonde. He was wearing a suit that was slightly too large for him, and his shoes needed a good shining. The woman, on the other hand, was perfectly coiffed, and carried a certain grace about her that isn't easy to pretend. Her red dress was overtly sexual, riding high on her thigh, with tiny tassels to caress her creamy pale skin, and dipping low to outline and expose the tops of her full, round breasts. She leaned toward the man with her upper body, being purposely seductive, but she seemed distant at the same time.

"She's being paid," he said, speaking in a calm voice, "so at least she has an excuse for acting like a tramp." He turned and leveled his dark eyes on me, giving me a pointed look that I could feel all the way down to the tips of my toes.

With that, he turned back to dinner and left me to my own thoughts, which weren't of the pure variety. I kept my eyes on the woman, admiring the line of her delicate neck, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. She was beautiful, but obviously an escort, because the fumbling man was groping her openly now, and she was subtlety leaning away but encouraging him with her whispers. It was an interesting contradiction.

When the waiter stopped mid-sentence to ogle the bird's eye view, I remembered my night's mission, and strove to emulate the sexuality that I could see radiating off the woman sitting with the older man. I smiled at our waiter, teasingly ran the tip of my tongue over my full and pouty lower lip, and looked him up and down rather appraisingly myself.

Shameless, I was. I didn't even hesitate to take the phone number slipped into my palm at the end of the night, or to hide the pat on my ass as we walked out the door. Jealousy, I thought, was such a handsome emotion.

It's not that I was interested in the men that stared, that flirted, and even, on occasion, groped. Of course they were handsome, but really, my mind was on him. My little plan was to fire him up, manipulate him into a blinding jealous frenzy, and get the holy hell fucked out of me. That's really all I wanted- to be thrown down, my clothes ripped, hair pulled, lost in the suffocating passion that would threaten to consume us both.

Then again, my little plans always have a glitch.

I wiggled in delicious anticipation the minute I felt him squeezing my hand just a bit too tight. I was a bad girl, and now I was going to pay for it. He pulled me across the parking lot, my skirt dancing on my thighs, having to jog in my heels to keep up with his angry stride. Always the gentleman, he opened the car door for me, but before I could step inside, he slammed me against the shiny black of the passenger side door and held me there with his body. I blinked in surprise, my chin tilted upward to look at him, and there it was. His eyes were fiery, his jaw clenched, his breathing short and irregular through gritted teeth. I licked my lips, rolling my hips against his.

"You little whore", he spat, gripping my waist too tight and pushing further into me, "You don't think I know the game you're trying to play with me?"

I sighed unconsciously, the tip of my tongue rubbing slowly over the expanse of my red lips.

"I know you, tramp, and I know what this is about. How dare you think you could manipulate me into being jealous? You just want to get fucked," he growled, his breath blowing slowly against my ear. I groaned louder now, my thigh slipping between his legs to rub against his crotch, my nipples pert and pressing against the material of my dress.

"You just want to be fucked, you scheming little cunt. I think I've got something better for you, instead." He chuckled, low in his throat, and my breath caught in mine. This wasn't the plan; this wasn't how my game was supposed to work.

By then, my cunt was pulsing against the sheer lace of my tiny black thongs, dripping and pooling between my legs. I ground shamelessly against his jean-clad thigh, needing him to kiss me. Hell, a few more minutes of this, and I would need him to throw me over the hood and pull my dress up, sliding his cock deep into my warm, wet, pulsing pussy, fucking me, my head banging on the car...

But I digress.

He shoved me rudely in the passenger seat, my skirt up around my waist, legs spread lewdly. I tugged my skirt down while he walked around to his side of the car, but he stopped, speaking on his cell phone, before he got in. When he finally opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, I could see that delicious muscle in his jaw pulsing. I was ecstatic, still thinking I was going to get exactly what I wanted, until I realized that we weren't headed anywhere.

We sat in the car for minutes, the silence thick, and my breath loud in my ears, short and ragged. I didn't know what he was up to, and I wasn't going to ask. Finally, he started the car and steered angrily around to the front of the restaurant, where he quickly put the car in park. I turned to him, questioningly. "Wh-who.. What are you doing?" I stuttered, making an idiot of myself. He laughed, and then got out of the car, walking around to my side. He opened the door, and half dragged me out.

"Get in the backseat", he said.

"What? N- why?" I stumbled, panicking.

"Do it. NOW." He didn't even hesitate, his voice icy. I was terrified, but I obeyed.

Crushed in the backseat, I peered through the window at my boyfriend walking over to the entrance of the restaurant, meeting the woman coming out of the door. He held a hand to her elbow while she leaned into him, her perfect blonde hair swinging against her shoulder blades, her tastefully French manicured nails brushing his jacket. She nodded once, smiled, and turned to walk toward our car, his arm around her waist. It was the woman, the one that was with the older man- the escort.

What was he doing?

I stared pitifully as he walked her back to our car, escorting her to the front seat, even helping her in. Neither even looked at me before he pulled off. I was speechless as he pulled away, making small talk with the girl, even flirting with her, with me shoved in the backseat!

When we pulled in our driveway, he helped her out, his hand on her elbow. Her skirt was so short I could see the curve of her ass. I was furious. She sashayed up to our front door, not even glancing backward at me, while I struggled awkwardly out of the backseat on my own. I slammed the door, stomping up the sidewalk, while he and that girl walked inside. He didn't even bother holding the door for me, but rather, walked straight in and took off his hip length leather jacket and hung it in the closet. He helped the girl out of her jacket, as well as having the audacity to hang it on my coat hook, leaving me to shrug myself out of my own. I felt totally misplaced.

I finally found my voice, and walked over to him, where I stood, my head barely reaching his shoulders. I put my hand on his upper arm, finally winning his attention, if only for a moment.

"Baby, what're you doing?", I asked quietly, my lower lip trembling, speaking earnestly. "Please don't do this to me.... I'm sorry for upsetting you- I won't do it again... I promise. Please... please send her home. Please?"

My pleas fell on deaf ears, because he didn't even look at me, just grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and pulled me into the kitchen, where he sat me unceremoniously in one of our high backed, wooden kitchen chairs.

"What the hell are you doing?", I yelled, beginning to panic. I moved to stand up, but teetered in my tall black heels and when he pushed me lightly, I fell neatly into the chair again. "Wha-!".

Before I could say another word, he very efficiently began to tie my upper arms to the back of the chair, pulling my chest up and out. I could feel the ropes biting into my tender flesh, and I shook my head, looking up at him.

"What ... Stop!," I cried, beginning to panic. This wasn't my game, and it was quickly becoming something I wanted nothing to do with. As he bent to tie my legs open to the spokes of the chair, I looked up and saw the woman he had brought home watching me. I glared at her, at her perfect blonde hair, her perfect stiletto heels, her full chest... she made me sick. While I was glowering, I hardly noticed my shoes being slipped off, and my big toes tied to the spokes of the chair as well, spreading my legs wide, my short dress gaping and my panties not hiding much at all.

After he finished, he walked over to the girl. She was busy staring at me... and continued to stare while he ran his hands around her hips and pulled her into him. He stroked her lips with his, his tongue slipping between her lips slowly as his fingers worked her skirt up, and her panties down. Her red satin panties puddled around her now bare feet, and she stepped out of them, first one perfect foot, then the other.

When I started to protest, yelling everything I could think of, I found out what else panties are good for- because he walked over, held my mouth open by my jaw, and stuffed them in, effectively gagging me on her panties. I could taste her, and try as I might, I could not spit them out.

I hated how she led him toward me, propping herself up on the dining room table and spreading her long, long legs. His back was to me... he didn't even glance my way as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his already hard cock.

Unbelievable! He was going to... to fuck her? I began to cry, tears falling freely down my face, but they both completely ignored me. She pulled the neck of her top down, exposing her round, perky tits, with sweet pink nipples. I looked down, blushing, suddenly very conscious of my heavier, less perky breasts... the ones he had enjoyed so much, but now had forgotten.

When she rubbed her tits against his chest, stripping for him, rolling her pelvis on his lap, I lost it. I sobbed, blubbering, not even making coherent sense in my own head. The taste of her cunt was so strong in my mouth.

He just stared at me, while the girl rubbed her hand over the swollen head of his cock, her thumb covering the hole of his already oozing shaft. She rubbed it against her pussy and he groaned- the groan that I was used to receiving from him.

I felt completely helpless, powerless to do anything except stare as he gripped her hips and thrust inside this strange girls cunt, burying his cock inside her to the hilt. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear them fucking, fast and hard, her sloppy wet cunt slipping up and down his cock, where I should be. It was no use- I couldn't block this. When I opened my eyes, he was humping her hard on the kitchen table, close enough for me to smell their sex and to see her tits shaking, head thrown back, both of them moaning... every groan, every pant, every sigh.

He came inside her, jerking his hips, thrusting fast, coating her cunt with his cum, his hot, white, sticky cum that was supposed to be mine. She came not long after, milking her cunt on his cock, putting on a good show of theatrical orgasms. She groaned too loudly, used too many cliché lines like, "Oh fuck baby, yes, yes.." I could have pulled her hair out.

I was practically snarling with rage at this whore that had fucked my boyfriend. I hated her; it burned in me like a searing heat. While he laid with her, kissing her, fondling her tits, I was stewing in my anger, listening to him whisper to her, listening to her cooing like the actress she was.

I was so lost in my own fury that I hardly noticed when she walked to me and bent at her waist, her breasts full and hanging, and her face close to mine. I could smell her breath, sweet with gum, and her hair brushed my cheek. I struggled, the rope biting into my arms- hurting me and restraining my every movement. My toes ached from the constant pulling and the forced arch of my feet tied to the chair, but still I struggled. I know my eyes were flashing, and my body was as tense as a coiled spring as she leaned in. The woman held my purse up to me, removing my wallet and pulling out five $20.00 bills. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms when she leaned even closer, pressing her red lips to mine.

"That'll be extra, sweetheart, for keeping my panties."

And with that, she slipped on her shoes, blew me a kiss, and walked out the door.

Jealousy, I found, was a very sexy emotion indeed.

(c) Isabelle 2002