When I opened the card that Saturday morning, I was suddenly reading about myself:
“Fiona was mercifully single again, shorn of a loveless marriage and a husband who never really appreciated her. She breathed freer these days, making her own way, succeeding professionally and concentrating on herself.”
That much had been true once and it would be true again, at least for tonight according to the notecard in my hand. I kept reading, remembering a slightly inebriated talk with my husband several weeks earlier:
“She hadn’t gotten involved with a man. In truth, with a new career looming, she hadn’t even taken the time to look seriously. Her powerful libido hadn’t quit though. She been increasingly agitated for several weeks and just needed relief. Acting on the discreet suggestion of a friend who supplied the phone number, she had called Devon, a reputedly handsome young man who specialized in satisfying needs of a certain sort. He had agreed to meet her in the bar of the waterside hotel downtown at 6:00 pm.”
Patrick and I had been discussing a magazine article detailing the unspoken fantasies of 500 women who had responded to a recent survey. Many women voiced a strong desire to be pure receivers of sexual pleasure with no expectation of giving anything in return. “Sometimes a girl just wants to be fucked,” one survey respondent noted. Others said they fantasized about paying an escort to service them guilt-free while they called all of the shots.
Patrick saw me stir as we discussed the article and afterwards in bed I became particularly aggressive, telling him what I wanted from him. Finally, he whispered loudly in my ear as we each had massive orgasms: “You just want to pay me, don’t you?”
Now it was several weeks later. Before leaving for a Saturday in the office, Patrick left the note. Inside the envelope were four $100 bills. By this point in our marriage, Patrick and I had a well-rehearsed history of acting out fantasies and I spent the day somewhat nervously figuring out exactly how a girl asked to be fucked under these circumstances.
As I dressed to meet Patrick, or rather Devon, I spied myself in the long dressing mirror in our bedroom and contemplated how a stranger, even a hired one, might see me. I dropped my robe, staring at my breasts, my legs and my pussy that I had trimmed mostly as a matter of courtesy for Devon because I had a pretty clear idea what to request. Anticipating the encounter had become too much for me by then and I could not resist jilling off to a quick sharp orgasm as I splayed myself in front of the mirror. Yes, I was ready to take charge now.
Devon was seated in the bar with two wine glasses in front of him when I entered the room. He seemed to look past me until I approached the table. Finally recognizing me as his customer for the evening, he smiled warmly and extended his hand. “Fiona?” he asked.
I smiled thinly, extending my hand.
“Please. Sit. I bought you wine. I hope merlot is all right.”
I merely nodded. After a sip, I said to him, “Look. I- I- have never done this before and I’m a little nervous.”
Devon smiled easily. “No wonder. You are gorgeous. You must have men swarming over you.”
“Not the right type,” I responded. “Not for a long time.”
He smiled a gentle understanding smile. This guy was practiced. It was easy to be with him.
“I understand,” he said. In a minute he said levelly, “It’s $400 for two hours. That includes the room.”
Devon saw me reaching for my purse and looked around nervously. “No, not here,” he said in a kind tone. “Upstairs. In a few minutes.”
Looking around again, he slid a cocktail napkin toward me. “The is a card key underneath. The room number is on the envelope. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
I nodded, finished my wine and stood. Devon stood. “Very nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
I eyed him icily, “But you haven’t really met me yet, have you?” I turned on a high heel and swiveled away, unsure whether it was necessary to prime this guy’s crank but at 39 years old I was too practiced to do otherwise.
Upstairs I waited somewhat nervously until there was a gentle knock at the door. “May I come in?” Devon asked, not waiting for an answer, gently pushing past me into the room. He was direct. “Business first,” he said with a wry smile.
I handed him four crisp $100 bills.
“Good,” he said pocketing the money. “Have you thought about what you would like?”
Indeed, I had. All afternoon I had been thinking but in the moment, I couldn’t find the words to tell him.
“Maybe you would be more comfortable changing into a robe. I think there is one in the closet.”
“Yes,” I said somewhat tentatively. “You’re right. I would be.”
I fished a long terry cloth robe form the closet and closed the bathroom door behind me. Stripping out of my dress, I peered at my nude self in the mirror again. As I cinched the robe I smiled and told myself, “This is for me.”
Devon had removed his jacket and was waiting for me in an armchair. He stood as I exited the bathroom, somewhat incongruously, I thought.
I found my voice now. “Please let me see you first. I think that is customary.”
“Yes, of course.” He unhitched his trousers and a thick semi-rigid cock flopped out.
“You have brought condoms?” Devon nodded and withdrew two foils on from his shirt pocket. “Good,” I said. “Put them on the night stand.” Devon complied as I took his seat in the chair, the robe still gathered at my neck.
Now he stood in front of me, wearing only his shirt. “Take that off,” I instructed in a suddenly firmer voice. My husband was now standing nude before me. I looked at his body as if seeing it for the first time. Nice shoulders. Powerful thighs. An athlete’s legs. I watched his cock harden and jut invitingly toward me.
“How do we start?” He asked.
“My pussy,” I responded, untying my robe and spreading my legs for him. “I want you to lick my pussy.”
Devon knelt as instructed and entered me with his tongue. I relaxed, draping my legs over his back, allowing the robe to fall open, exposing my nipples. I kneaded them as Devon serviced me unhurriedly. Yes. Perfect. Don’t stop. I held off my first orgasm while this hired stranger flicked away at my clitoris and alternately burrowed his tongue into my vagina.
Finally overcome, I grunted, grabbed his hair and pulled his head into my lap as he savagely fucked me with his tongue. I shuddered with my first orgasm and he withdrew his head. “Kiss me,” I commanded. “I want to taste myself.” Devon did as instructed.
I pushed him away and stood, shrugging off my robe. “Put on a condom and come here.” I leaned into the chair, spreading my legs and offering my ass to him. I didn’t care to see Devon as he entered me for the first time. All I wanted was his hard cock, He did not disappoint. He speared me with it, splitting my pussy from the rear and then drove into me in hard practiced thrusts.
“Good boy,” I said. “Just like that. Just fuck me hard.”
Devon thrust away mechanically, purposefully bringing me along to a second orgasm. He knew his work well. I screamed. “Pull my hair! Fuck me!” He grabbed a handful of hair, crooking my neck. I still couldn’t see him but his hard cock was ramming into me finding my g-spot, pushing me toward the edge. He concentrated on my pleasure. I just concentrated on taking every inch of his dick.
“Ugh! Ugh!” I grunted from a place deep in my abdomen. “Yes! Give it to me!” A crashing second orgasm.
Devon growled for the first time. I yielded to him and suddenly he withdrew from me, spinning my hips and pushing me onto the bed. He kneed my legs apart and shoved his dick into my pussy again. Now I felt his hands around my ankles, raising them high in the air. His grip was powerful. He was driving me now and I wanted to be driven, lost in the glorious pounding.
“Do-you-like-this, baby?” Devon grunted.
“Yess!” I rasped. “But just shut up and fuck me!”
Gripping my ankles this man wound me around his cock while he pistoned into me. He seemed to sense my convulsions, to read my breathing as if he had fucked me before. I began to whimper and as if on cue, he delivered the last few powerful thrusts. I screamed. Number three. He slowed and began to withdraw from me.
“No!” I commanded. “Leave it in me.”
He stood and pulled my hips to the edge of the bed while my pussy throbbed around his dick. My nipples were flushed. They tingled on the edge of burning. My hair was wet and matted to my face.
Finally, he slid his cock out of me. Incredibly it was still hard.
Devon smiled. “Are you finished?”
“No,” I croaked. “Take me to the window.”
Our room was on the 15th floor with an expanse of windows overlooking the harbor. Wordlessly my hired Devon went to the shades and opened them. It was dark. Lights sprinkled the harbor. A light from the bathroom silhouetted us in the window frame as I joined him at the window and again offered my swollen pussy. Palms flat against the window and all of me on display to anyone in the harbor I braced as he entered me again. This time it was short and furious. “Give it to me!” I shouted. “Fuck me now.”
The man purposefully got back to work, pounding into my pussy as I peered at his reflection in the glass and wondered who was watching us. “Harder!” I groaned. “Give them all a show.” He fucked me even more savagely, now starting to groan himself.
“I’m sorry ma’am. I. Just. Can’t. Wait.” He grunted and moaned in time with my own panting. Then he exploded into the condom and suddenly we were finished.
I stumbled back to the bed, panting. Devon covered me with a sheet and then closed the bathroom door behind himself. In a minute or two he emerged fully dressed, pausing in the doorway. I whispered, “Please keep the change.”
Then he was gone. The door latch clicked behind him and I fell into a deep sleep.
Several hours later I slipped through the back door of our house, disheveled and looking as if I had spent the evening fucking. Patrick greeted me with a smile.
“Hi, baby. Have you had a nice evening?”
I led him to bed, longing to be held, longing to hold my husband. There would be no more sex until the morning and then it would be long, gentle and sweet.