Seduction 46

The tickets arrived the next morning about 11:00 o’clock.  There was a ticket for me, and a ticket for Andrea.  No ticket for Jon.  Which, when I thought about it, was good.  He had to work.  IF this all turned out to be a dream of some sort, we would need his income.

I could not stop thinking about the questions uppermost in my mind.  ‘Am I really a highly paid call girl now?  How did this happen?  Why am I doing this?  What is the difference between a call girl and a whore anyway?  And why does my tummy quiver every time I think about being a whore?  Why do I suddenly enjoy getting paid huge sums of money to have sex with strangers?  And for god’s sake, why does it turn me on to get paid to have unprotected sex with strangers?’

It had been years since I enjoyed sex with my husband.  I suspect he knew that. 

But then I have sex with fifty men in a bar, or what ever you call it, and they all leave their sex cream inside me, and I get so turned on that I can’t stop fantasizing about it happening again?

It’s like I am on hair trigger to have orgasms!  Plural.  I have never had more than one orgasm in a night, and that was on our honeymoon.  And now, I can suddenly cum for hours?  With a strangers?  Especially black men I don’t even know?

I’m a whore.  I am a high priced call girl whore!  And I love it!  What is going on with me?

Andrea and I spent over two thousand dollars on clothing for me.  She picked out each of the outfits.  VERY sexy outfits!  No underwear; just dresses and blouses and skirts and belts and shoes.  Oh my god the shoes!  And hose.  And sleepwear.  Sexy, slinky, revealing, seductive nightwear . . . for my Johns to enjoy me in.  Not for my husband.  Only men that paid to have sex with me.

In the dressing room, while I was trying on a shear white peignoir, Andrea slid two fingers into me and commanded me to do my vaginal exercises.  It only took me minutes and I went off again.  Andrea held her hand over my mouth to muffle my wails of lust. 

Everyone was staring at me when we walked out of the dressing room.  I actually felt kind of proud.  Some of the women looked embarrassed, some looked shocked, but most of them looked envious. 

I could feel my nipples, hard, proudly poking out as I walked through the store to the cashier, wobbly after my orgasm.  A couple of husband’s got their heads slapped as they stared.

We flew first class.  I wore a very sexy outfit.  Men kept walking by my seat, trying not to be obvious about sneaking a peak at my girls. 

Even that turned me on.

Andrea and I would giggle to each other when a guy did that.  Several women also flirted with me. 

As we were landing, Andrea leaned over and told me that she would be in a room next to mine.  She explained that there would be a door between the rooms.  I was to let no one into my room except through that party-wall doorway.  Andrea would test every man that would come through her room before they went through that doorway.  In other words, any person coming through that doorway between her room and mine was to be considered a client, and I should be the kind of woman they wanted me to be.  The kind of woman they had paid good money to enjoy.

When we stood up to exit the aircraft, I realized just how moist I was.

Andrea asked me if I am excited, or was I scared?

I thought for a few seconds.  “Both!” I admitted. 

“Spread your legs so I can check how wet you are, honey bunny.”

Blushing bright red, I did.  She inserted her finger without even trying to hide it from the men across the aisle.  She giggled.  “Yes, you certainly are!  You are drenched baby girl!”

Those men across the aisle were goggle-eyed, their mouths hanging open.

I smiled wickedly at them, then winked. 

Their erections were very obvious.  I reached down and patted the man’s crotch that was nearest the aisle.  “Don't you wish you were my date, baby?” I whispered in his ear.

I raked my fingernails lightly across the tip of his pee-pee.

He came hard, and, unfortunately, loud.  Everyone heard him.

As we walk off the plane, I can not stop thinking about the fact that I am actually going to be trying to get pregnant . . . to be inseminated . . . no . . . to be bred . . . for the whole time I am in Jamaica, by the man, the stud, that is paying to have sex with me; the black stud that is paying a tidy sum to fuck me as much as he wants to.  No holds barred.  Bareback.  I felt my bunny clench involuntarily, just like earlier when Andrea had blatantly fingered me. 

I almost squirted.