I Landed The Best Regular Client A Hooker Could Ask For

I have a moment to check myself in the lobby mirror before my noon client opens the door of his suite. I turn and smile at him. He starts to smile back and then his smile freezes for a minute. The awkward moment of introduction between a man paying for sex and the woman he has paid for. In our case the moment goes longer than usual, for good reason.

The man recovers and smiles a wide, toothy smile; a politician’s smile. He extends his hand for a handshake and his grip is warm, firm, but not bone crushing. I smile and enter the suite behind him. It is the best suite in the hotel. My john has money. The benefits of sleeping for money in good hotel rooms cannot be overstated. The biggest benefit being that you only have to worry about catching an infection from the client, and not the toilet seat.

He makes drinks and hands me mine. Must be my lucky day, a vodka with just a hint of tonic. Just the way I like it. He has dark rum with some ice in his. We clink the glasses and drink. His eyes take in my tall slender frame in a cream colored angora sweater and skin tight jeans. In the old days, working girls would wear short skirts and stilettos with stockings right up to their asses. But the tacky sexy look is too conspicuous. The way I dressed, I could have been a mother returning from dropping her son off at soccer practice.

“So what brought you to this, um, line of work?” he asks.

A talker. Men usually reserve this question for later. But never mind, I was ok with it.

“Bored, I guess. Husband keeps busy and a girl has needs. You know, cash and kind both.”

He smiles and shakes his head in understanding.

“So what brings you here?” I ask.

He sips his drink before answering, undressing as he talks. “Bored too, I guess. Besides, there are things a guy needs but will not feel comfortable asking his wife to do if he respects the relationship.”

Now he is stripped to his jockey shorts. A little bit of a paunch, but overall in better shape than the typical man of his age. He motions for me to undress and join him in the bed.

I step out of my clothes and stand before him in a pair of satin panties and a matching bra in screaming red. It plays off nicely with my fair skin. I turn to let him see the swell of my full breast in profile. My skin is flawless and smooth. I am well groomed. I climb into bed but as he tries to take me in his arms I stop him.

“Something the wife would not do, you said?” I ask with my best slutty smile. He takes a moment to understand but then smiles happily. He lays on his back and allows me to take over.

Free of his shorts, his manhood is erect and adequate. I grip it and pump it once. He groans a bit. I sit up and unhook my bra. He watches as my milky breasts are freed from their confines. I shake my hair free and then bend to kiss the top of his cock. He tries to grab my head but I push his hand aside. I run my tongue on his shaft and lick his balls for a teasing micro second before sitting up again.

He is looking at me. I hold my right breast in my hand and point my chocolate colored nipple at him.

“Your wife uses this?” I ask in a soft voice. His eyes go wide.

“No. God no,” he says.

“You don’t get to use your hands till I say so, ok? If you use your hand on me, you have to use them on yourself to finish off, do you understand me, honey?” I ask. I am rubbing the area around his groin as I speak.

“Yes…oh God yes” he says.

I point my nipple towards the tip of his cock and slowly press it against his exposed head. My nipple presses into the opening of his shaft. Men are not used to being invaded there. The trick is to keep the pressure on. I slowly push, careful to inflict pain but not injury. He is balling his fists and thrashing his legs. Don’t you love it when it’s the man’s toes that curl? I repeat the same with my other nipple.

“Ohhh…Please stop…” he is moaning now. His eyes are glassy.

“Stop this?” I ask and slowly push his cock into my ample cleavage. I press my breasts from both sides to give him friction.

“Noooo…don’t…ohhhh…” He is writhing in pleasure.

I slowly rub my breasts from both sides and massage his cock gently for an excruciating two minutes. I can feel a ball busting pressure building inside him. Just at the right moment, I discard my satin panties and straddle him. He tries to reach for my breasts but I am ahead of him. I grab his wrists and press his hands over his head.

My hands are strong, the way a woman’s hands get from a lifetime of juggling toddlers, purses, and groceries. I pin his hands and lick his face with my tongue. It is a long, slow lick starting from his bushy eyebrows and reaching his Adam’s apple. I impale myself on his cock at the precise right moment. He slides in my cunt effortlessly. I let out a long sigh of pleasure and raise my body off him for a moment before ramming it down hard enough to hurt both of us. Then I squeeze my buttocks together to provide more friction and carry on. I never let go of his hands.

He moans, he begs me to let go of his hands. He calls me a whore, he calls me his queen. He pleads, he offers me money. Nothing works. I pin his hands to my side and ride him like a bull. Then, at the last minute, I let my grip slip and allow him to take over. Oh, how men love it when they feel they have overpowered you. And how easy it is to fool them into believing that they have.

He mounts me and pins my hands to my side. Then he lets go of one and slaps me, calling me a whore. I throw my head back and giggle even though his slap hurts. Then I wrap my legs around his waist and surrender. He kneads my breasts, he leaves a love-bite on my neck. At a well-timed moment, I thrust my hips with more force than usual and scratch his buttocks with my long nails. The sudden pain is enough for him to let go and I arch my back as he climaxes.

We shudder and sob together in a long, blissfully intense moment.

Then he takes me in his arms and lets me rest my head on his hairy chest. I stroke his chest and say nothing. When I notice the rapidly bruising love bite on my neck, I tell him “You’re paying for this, Mister.”

He laughs and strokes my face and says, “Don’t you worry that your husband will find out about your side job and that your marriage will then be over?”

I laugh and stroke his chin. His age is showing there with just a hint of double chin.

“My husband is planning to run for the city council come this November. And I know a secret that will destroy him if it ever comes out,” I say.

He considers this for a moment. His face darkens and then relaxes just as suddenly. He kisses me and says “Checkmate, eh?”

I kiss my husband of twenty years and the prospective councilman of our town, smiling back at him.