‘I fucked your husband.’
She loved telling them. That was almost the best part. Sometimes, if the guy was too small, too clumsy, or too quick, it definitely was the best bit. Not that she didn’t enjoy fucking them anyway. But knowing she was going to tell their wife all the details was what made her cum.
The woman’s face crumpled, a mixture of surprise and disappointment. Odd really, since this was what she’d paid for, this was the result she was expecting. Anything else would have been a waste of her money.
‘I have everything here.’ From her handbag she produced a piece of paper. As she unfolded it she reeled off its contents like she knew it by heart. She did. She’d told so many wives that it was almost routine. Except it was too exciting for that. Telling them always made her wet.
‘Results of DNA test, conducted by our Harley Street clinic, showing male and female DNA in sample A — that’s the one from inside me, of course.’ She loved saying that. Your husband spunked in my pussy is what it meant. A pussy that was getting wetter as she continued. ‘And results from sample B — that’s the one you collected from his underwear — showing only male DNA, They match. Any divorce judge will take it as a guarantee of your husband’s infidelity.’
I fucked your husband. That’s what it said. And she loved watching their faces when she told them.
The woman nodded, still mute, took the document in a shaky hand and placed it on the table beside her.
‘And here are the camera files.’
She handed over a small plastic wallet containing the card.
And here are the pictures of me fucking your husband. That’s what she wanted to say, so they heard those actual words, but professional etiquette and all that. But that’s what it was. Hardly needed these days thanks to the DNA test. Before that it had all been down to the secret filming, never very conclusive and often susceptible to dispute. But you can’t argue with a pussy full of spunk.
She oozed. Her knickers were soaked. She’d be glad when this was over so she could go and have a dirty fuck with someone. Having to stay celibate for a week so there was no chance of another man’s spunk in her was a real pain.
‘Have you got a laptop, or would you like to watch it on mine?’
She knew this woman had one, but she wanted to put that thought in her head, them leaning over the flickering screen while her husband fucked the pretty girl beside her, all proper and businesslike now, but all wild abandon and yelling orgasms in the movie.
She always came lots when she knew the camera was running. The idea of other people watching her made her horny as hell. She never had to fake the excitement. It made up for a lot of disappointing bedroom performances from the men. And a lot of disappointing equipment.
Hers was first class. The cameras, not the body. Although an hour in the gym every morning and evening meant she was catwalk ready.
Just as well, because she was putting on a show. This was performance art.
And even though they were tiny the cameras these days saw detail like it was a Hollywood movie. They were arranged in pairs. Two for the faces, and two wide shots from different angles so there was no doubt that the husband’s cock was in her pussy.
The most damning part of the film evidence was shot in the bar. Another member of the team with cameras hidden in just about everything he carried, as well as the one in his phone. He looked like he was texting, but really he was filming her. Them.
It proved that no money changed hands, that she hadn’t solicited him like a hooker, even though what she was doing amounted to prostitution.
‘That’s what you are, isn’t it Miss Cullen? Just a common whore?’
The husband’s lawyer almost shouted what he hoped would be his knockout blow across the courtroom. They didn’t often dispute the DNA evidence, but with millions at stake in the divorce settlement, this husband had been trying to prove entrapment.
Backfired on him though. She gasped aloud as the lawyer called her a whore, and wobbled on her feet as her legs almost gave way. It was such a genuine reaction that it won her the sympathy of everyone in the courtroom.
She hadn’t been shocked by what he said. Her pussy exploded in her knickers and she almost came without being touched. That’s why she gasped, as his words thrust up between her pussy lips and her knees gave way. She grabbed the edge of the witness box and managed to stay upright.
Everyone was on her side after that, and the case was all over the next day. Winning always a good feeling. Not as good as standing up in court and swearing on the Holy Bible that she’d let a poor unsuspecting husband strip her hard body naked, sink his fingers into the syrupy hotness of her pussy and then plunge his cock into her. Not in those words, obviously.
In court she was only allowed to say “and then we had intercourse”.
But watching the faces of everyone looking at her, she could see they were wondering what sort of girl she must be, if she’d voluntarily fuck strangers for money. And wondering what it would feel like if they were the stranger having intercourse with her.
It all came down to that in the end. Men saw her blonde hair, blue eyes, welcoming smile and a body that had been made in heaven for the benefit of the devil, and wanted to know what her pussy looked like, tasted like and felt like. All men wanted to fuck her. They couldn’t help themselves. She never had to ask.
Two years she’d been doing this, and the man in the videos was number thirteen. She’d never had to ask any of them. They always suggested it long before she needed to make the offer. Letting them look up her skirt as she sat next to them at the bar was probably an offer, in real life if not in law. But most of them had already asked.
‘Would you like a drink upstairs.?’
They always said that. Fancy a fuck? That’s what they meant, but they never said anything that honest.
When she was married she’d said it herself sometimes. Partly for the shock value, but also because she often got fed up waiting for them to proposition her. The slow ones were mostly her husband’s friends. A lot of them didn’t want to make the first move. She had no reservations. Making the offer, asking do you want to fuck me, turned her on. She was wet and ready long before they started kissing and touching her. They always did. No-one ever turned her down.
Sometimes she was more discreet.
‘Do you want to go outside for a cigarette?’ she asked at a wedding,
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Nor do I.’
He understood immediately. She could see the shock in his eyes, and it made her wet.
She’d sat beside him at the table very carefully, and she already knew she was perfectly positioned.
Now she smiled, and did that thing with her legs, a good long look up her skirt. A good hard look, once he’d seen the holdups and the soft white knickers. Rigby & Peller, cost more than they’d paid for a double room in this 4-star hotel, and now worth every penny.
His eyes widened and she knew he’d seen the way they clung to the curves of her pussy, seen the dark shadow of wetness at her core. She knew there was a wet spot. There was always a wet spot when she’d chosen a target to flash at.
His eyes flickered away from her and round the room, looking for her husband, making sure he wasn’t watching them.
‘He’s upstairs, changing.’
One of the advantages of staying in the hotel was the opportunity to change out of the formal wedding clothes and into something suitable for dancing the night away, as she already had.
Dancing, flirting, and fucking.
She was sure of him now.
His eyes had swivelled back, boring between her legs, the heat of his gaze burning her pussy through the sodden material. She could feel her wetness now, feel the oily heat inside and the cold slickness of the damp material on her lips as they swelled open in readiness.
Thank god short skirts never went out of fashion. She could sit like this all night long and nobody but the two of them would know what she was doing. He was the only person in the room who could see up her skirt. And he was ready for the next step.
‘Let’s go.’
She smiled brightly, and picked up the packet of cigarettes lying on the table. She had no idea whose they were but now they were the ideal prop. Anybody watching would immediately know where they were going, and why. What could be more innocent?
She stepped lightly, like walking on air, alive with the anticipation of what she was about to do. She didn’t glance back once. because she knew that the best way to make him follow her outside was to keep moving and not give him the slightest reason to stop. Even so it was a relief when his arm reached over her shoulder to push the door open for her, like any gentleman would do. He was still there, and fully committed to the deed. And no gentleman.
Because no gentleman would follow her into the shadows, a deep, dark corner where she leaned back against the wall that vibrated with the thudding bass from the party inside.
He started to say something. This was no time for discussions, or protest.
Her hand snaked behind his neck, pulling his face down to hers.
‘Don’t talk,’ she whispered as their lips bumped softly together. ‘Fuck me.’
Then she kissed him, soft and firm, mouth open and wet like her pussy.
Her other hand found his wrist and drew it down between her legs, already invitingly wide apart, everything open to his touch.
‘Mmmm.’ he exclaimed as his fingers brushed her wetness. He was shocked, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Good.
He hadn’t noticed her hitch up her skirt almost in the same movement as she’d leaned back against the wall, and in the darkness he’d also missed seeing her pull the posh knickers aside, baring her pussy to his fingers and cock.
Shame, because it was a hugely erotic gesture that had made strong men spray hot spunk all over her once or twice before. To be fair, they’d usually had a bit of preparation from her hands and mouth first. But she always loved it, making guys cum so fast they were ashamed. She’d done that, made them so excited they lost control. Her looks, her touch, her body, her promise of a pussy so hot and wet they had to ask.
‘Are you always like this?’ they’d query, as she scalded their fingertips with liquid desire.
‘It’s because I want your cock so much,’ she’d say. Something like that, anyway. Perfectly true, but not the honest answer.
Always. Even when I’m alone with my fingers, she could have said.
I want every cock this badly, also would have been true.
But it wouldn’t have made them harder. There’s nothing like telling a man he’s the only one you want; it gives him a hard-on he could use to knock down walls. And when he’s using it to knock the back out of you, as some grubby git on a building site had said when he was doing just that, tell him he’s the biggest and the best.
They all love that, even if they know the first is a lie and the second is flattery at best.
Men love hearing how good their cock feels inside your pussy. They’d never trust a girl enough to buy a used car from her, but they’ll believe every word if she’s telling them how great they are in bed. Or up against a wall, in this case.
His fingers were thrusting away between her legs and she was getting ready to cum herself. But he still had his cock in his trousers, as if he still didn’t believe she wanted to fuck him. Or wasn’t sure about going through with it himself.
Too late to back out now, she thought, and reached down.
There was a reassuringly big lump in his trousers. Big and hard.
His zip was easy. His cock swelled up in his pants, pushing upwards, straining for her pussy, opening a gap, opening the slit in the material so it was easy to wriggle her fingers inside and take a firm grip on his flesh.
”Oooooh’.
Her turn to sigh in appreciation. Genuine, too. He felt good in her hand, hot and thick and heavy.
She loved cocks. All cocks. Big ones, small ones, black ones and white ones, she loved them all. She even loved soft cocks. But most of all, easily her best love, was a hard cock, stiff and straight and quivering eagerly, wanting to get in her pussy as much as she wanted him to put it in there.
No time for finesse. She dragged it out of the opening in his pants, pulling it roughly into the cool air between them, aiming it at her pussy as she lifted one leg and began to climb aboard.
‘Oh God no,’ he exclaimed, and she knew he wasn’t asking her to stop.
He was about to cum, the gushing tribute she loved, except this time she wanted to feel it, not see it. She wanted him inside, throbbing as he came. She wanted him to feel her pussy around his shaft as it erupted and remember it for ever.
Fifty yards away, the door banged open releasing a blast of sound and filling the pathway with shards of light. People were looking for them. There was no time to lose.
‘In me,’ she instructed.
He was trying to wriggle away from her even as his cock began to swell up in her hand.
‘Put it in me. Cum in me or there’ll be spunk everywhere and everyone will know.’
She tugged him towards herself by the base of his cock and thank God he realised she was right. Any reservations he might have had were overwhelmed by a desire to conceal what they’d been doing.
Also, he wanted to feel her pussy round his shaft more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He stopped dissenting and let her guide him inside.
It was like heaven, it truly was, a warm, soft velvet glove, the most luxurious sensation imaginable. He relaxed, and let himself cum, spurting helplessly as more voices were raised in the doorway, and footsteps crunched on the gravel.
She came too. The feel of a cock spraying inside her pussy often triggered the climax she’d been waiting for. Illicit partners always made her cum quickly, and hearing her husband’s voice calling for her, knowing a few more steps would bring him close enough to see her fucking someone else… what girl wouldn’t cum hard on the cock inside her?
She was still gasping as she broke away from him, brushing her skirt down to mid-thigh where it belonged, instant innocence she’d relied on many times before. Stepping in front of him gave her partner concealment as he zipped himself away, just in time. Her husband was upon them.
‘Anyone here seen the bride..?’ His voice died away as she stepped from the shadows. ‘Oh there you are darling… I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ he ended lamely, a thousand questions in the tone of his voice.
‘I’ve been out here with Andrew. I’m afraid we’ve got a confession to make.’
He didn’t know how to react.
‘He has a secret craving, and I let him talk me into joining in.’
Behind her, Andrew gulped in the darkness.
‘He tries to keep it hidden because he doesn’t think it’s the right thing for a vicar to be doing.’
Laughing lightly, she raised her hand and waved the packet of cigarettes she’d brought from the table.