A Lady Pays Her Penalties

by Ashley Zacharias

  One hundred dollars down; five hundred to go.

  He was still sitting on the easy chair with his pants around his knees when she came back into the room, this time wearing her coat. “I’m going out for a while, dear. I’ll be back soon. You be good, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  Alex felt good. He felt relaxed for the first time since Leslie had proposed the Whore-for-a-Day Game. Damn, he had had a hard week. Pun intended. After a while, he got up and refastened his pants. He thought about going upstairs and cleaning himself up, but there was no need. The Whore – he was consciously trying to think of Leslie as The Whore because that was what he was supposed to do – had already licked him as clean as a whistle. She had certainly earned her hundred dollars. As he puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen, making the bed, performing various other little domestic chores, he began to wonder what she would do to earn her next hundred. Another five perfect blowjobs sounded like a great idea to him, but he knew that she would do something different next time. Leslie – oops, The Whore – would have to have a better strategy than that to win the game. As lovely as a string of blowjobs sounded in theory, in practice, trying to repeat the same act over and over would soon bore him into flaccidity.

  After two hours had passed, he was getting impatient. And horny again. Didn’t she know that the clock was ticking? She had only twenty-two hours left and he expected to spend the last eight of those sleeping. That meant that she had only fourteen waking hours to work with and he was going to require more time to recuperate between visits from The Whore as the day wore on.

  He tried reading but that was useless. He was obsessing so much about when he would get into a little more whore that he read whole pages without understanding a single word. In the end, he turned on the television and sat staring at whatever happened to be playing while he waited for The Whore to return.

  At ten-thirty, the phone rang. He raced to answer it. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” the Whore’s voice replied. “A friend gave me your name. She said that you might be interested in a party at your house. A house party, so to speak. Are you up for it?”

  He was. Literally. “I’d like that.”

  “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  “Sex.”

  “Of course, honey. I mean what kind of sex would you like? Just whisper it in my ear.”

  “I’d like… I’d like to come in your pussy.”

  “I think I’d like that too.”

  “Or your mouth,” he added. “Whichever you’d like.”

  “No, sir. Whichever you’d like.”

  “Okay. Pussy.”

  “Do you want to be a beast? Do you want me to bend over so that you can take me from behind?”

  “Okay.” Leslie had never offered to do it doggie style before.

  “You think about that. You think if that’s what you’d most like to do and, if that’s it, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where do you live?”

  He recited his address to her, and she pretended that she didn’t already know it, asking him to repeat the number and spell the street.

  “I’ll be over as soon as I can. I’m looking forward to this. We’re going to have some fun.”

  “Okay.”

  She hung up and he went back to waiting. It was easier now because he had something concrete to fantasize about.

  Only a few minutes seemed to pass before the doorbell rang. He shut the TV off and practically ran to the door.

  The Whore was wearing high, high heels: fire-engine red with straps around the ankles and open toes. Red stockings clung to her lovely long legs all the way up to the hem of a red miniskirt that fell halfway down her thigh. The skirt was cinched with a wide red belt that matched her shoes. A plain white cotton blouse was unbuttoned far enough to give him a glimpse of a red lace bra at her cleavage. The topper, though, was a fall of long red hair that tumbled to her shoulders in waves of luscious curls. A bright, unnatural red. A scarlet-woman red. Surely it was a wig; she would not have spent the morning getting her hair dyed and permed. Surely.

  “Come in,” he said.

  “You must be John,” she replied. “You’re even more handsome than my friend said.” She walked through the door and he saw that her red stockings had a seam running up the back. Her ass wriggled as she walked. Leslie’s ass never wriggled, but The Whore worked her ass like a pro. Maybe it was the heels that gave her that extra sway.

  She held her hand back over her shoulder without looking at him and said, “Business before pleasure, my handsome man. My special rate for a good-looking guy like you is an even hundred.”

  When he handed her the bill, she tucked it into a little clutch purse – fire-engine red, of course – and said, “Where would you like to have our date? Living room? Bedroom? Kitchen?”

  “Living room?”

  “I presume that’s the room that I see through here.”

  He followed her swaying, pulsing, rolling ass into the living room.

  “Do you want to close the curtains or would you like to give the neighbors something interesting to gossip about? Either way is fine with me.”

  She sounded like she meant it.

  He wondered if she were so far into her character that she had forgotten that she would be Leslie again tomorrow and still living here. He leaped to draw the curtains.

  She laughed in delight.

  When he came back to her, she took him by the hand and said, “Wow, if you’re still happy with taking me like a bitch in heat, let me show you what a bitch in heat looks like.” She squatted so that her breasts were level with his navel, pressed them against his abdomen and slowly rubbed her body against his all the way up, moaning softly while holding his waist lightly with her hands. “You feel so good that I have to keep myself on a short leash.” She nuzzled his neck softly with her hair while she unbuttoned his shirt. It seemed to take a long time. She was in no hurry. After she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and pulled his arms free of the sleeves, she stepped back and began unbuttoning her white blouse. Slowly, one button at a time, revealing a bit more of her red lace bra at every step. Her back was arched; her lace-covered breasts were straining against the light fabric as though desperate to pounce on him. He loved his wife’s breasts but marveled at how much more erotic The Whore’s tits were. When the fabric parted enough to reveal her nipples, he saw that they were dark and erect beneath the red lace. His wife’s nipples had never been this dark. Was this the same woman that he had married? Or was The Whore an imposter who merely resembled his wife?

  When she finally discarded her blouse, she grabbed his head by the hair with both hands and began working her tits against his chest. “You feel so good, I can’t believe it,” she said. “I bet you’re as strong as a bull.”

  She sank to a deep squat and began unbuckling his belt. This time, she pulled his pants all the way off. His underwear followed in short order, revealing his erection.

  “Look,” she purred, “You’re hung like a bull, too.” She caressed his cock lightly. He was as hard now as he had been this morning. “I want to feel all of this inside me.”

  When she rose to her feet again, she turned so that her back was facing him. She arched her back to thrust her ass out as far as possible and began to bend her knees in alternation to work her hips, moving her ass in circles inside her short red skirt. “Why don’t you let your cock feel this ass? It sure wants to feel your cock.” She worked her way backwards until she was grinding her fabric-covered butt against his crotch.

  It felt damn good.

  “You know what kind of panties a bitch in heat wears?” she asked and reached down to begin working the hem of her miniskirt up her thighs. “You want to guess?”

  “A thong,” he hazarded as he saw the tops of her stockings revealed. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose. These were real stockings held up by a red garter belt.

  “Mmm. I don’t think so,” she r
eplied. “Want to guess again?”

  She stepped forward so that she was no longer in contact with his cock but was still working her ass for all it was worth. “Come on try again.”

  “Red lace?” he guessed.

  “No, silly. A real bitch doesn’t wear any panties.” She pulled the skirt up over her hips to prove that she was a real bitch. “See? A bitch keeps her cunt naked and ready for her beast.”

  She backed toward him again. “I want you real bad. I’m dripping for you, so why don’t you grab my waist and put it to me. This bitch needs to feel you in–“

  He had heard enough talk. He interrupted her spiel with action. She was as wet as could be and he slid all the way home on the first thrust. She kept working her ass and he felt her cheeks flexing against his groin as he began pumping in earnest. God, all that motion around his cock felt good.

  It felt good to The Whore, too. She never stopped telling him that. “Oh, God! Yes! God, you feel good. Do me. Do me as deep as you can. God, yes. I can’t believe how deep you’re getting into me. Oh, God. Hang on tight. God, that feels good. Ram it home, stud. Nobody has even done me this deep before. God damn it, fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. I’m begging you. Fuck me hard. God, you feel good inside me. Pump me. God yes. Pump me. Come on! Do me!”

  He did her. She didn’t stop working and grinding until she felt him come deep inside her. Then, when he was finally finished, she stopped and hung there, bent at the waist, arms hanging down, limp as a rag doll.

  When he stepped away from her, she scooped up her blouse, stood straight and pulled her skirt back down to cover her garter belt and stocking tops.

  She caressed his face, said, “Honey, you were terrific. I look forward to seeing you again real soon. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he gasped.

  She left the house.

  He sank down on the couch, still naked, and said, aloud to the empty house, “I love the Whore-for-a-Day Game.”

  * * *

  Alex had not heard from The Whore by noon, so he fixed himself a light lunch. Another hour passed and he was getting bored. He had not considered that the game would have such long intervals between the sexual interludes. Then he laughed at himself. He always waited for at least three days before having sex with his wife and usually much longer. Sometimes weeks. Now he was complaining about having to wait more than a couple of hours for his third sexual adventure since he got up this morning. But he was ready for it. He wasn’t walking around with a stiffie, not after getting off twice today, but he thought that he could get it up again easily enough if called to duty. Especially if the call came in the form of The Whore’s ivory smooth ass framed in scarlet and pulsing like two wildcats humping in a burlap sack.

  He decided to take a quick nap to recharge his batteries. Predictably, he had just closed his eyes when the phone rang and woke him up. “Hello,” he said, groggily, as he peered at the clock. It said one-thirty and he realized that he had been napping for a full hour.

  He recognized The Whore’s voice, “I saw your ad on the Cheating Wives website and I was intrigued by it. I was wondering if we could meet and talk about it.”

  “What? What ad? Cheating wives? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do, John. That’s your name, right, like you said in your ad. You said that you’re Long John Silver and that you wanted to shiver the timbers of any bored and lonely housewife who wanted an adventure. Well, I’m calling your number because I’m a bored and horny housewife and I want to get my timbers shivered something awful.”

  At last, Alex was waking up enough to understand what was going on. “Oh. Yeah. Right. My ad on the Internet. Yeah. Sorry. I just woke up and I’m not thinking clearly yet. Yeah, right. The ad. Wow. I never thought that anyone would call my number. I just put the ad up there as a lark. Wow. You’re really calling. You want to have an affair with me.”

  She tittered. “That’s rather blunt, but absolutely right. My husband isn’t satisfying me any more and I need a man who’ll give me some relief, if you know what I mean. I just want a quickie with a stranger. No commitments. No names. Just a joyful physical coupling. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “I sure am.”

  “My husband can’t find out. You can be discrete, can’t you? Real discrete?”

  “Sure. I’ll never tell a soul.”

  “That’s terrific. Like I said, I’m a real desperate housewife. I’m not fat or ugly or anything. I’m twenty-nine years old and my friends say that I’m pretty. It’s not that I couldn’t find a man on my own, but I think that answering your ad is better. It’s more anonymous. If I tried to have an affair with an acquaintance or someone from work, then my husband would find out and I’d be in trouble. But this way, there’s no chance of complications. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good. I don’t want any complications.” There was a pause, then The Whore said, “So what about you? Are you real old or extra heavy or something?”

  “No. No. I’m just like you. I’ve got a wife, but she’s not very forthcoming when it comes to physical love and I need a little variety. I’m thinking that if I have a quick, simple affair with another woman, then I won’t think about divorcing my own wife so much.” He wondered what Leslie would think about hearing him talk about divorcing her. He’d be lying if he said that he never considered it but he wasn’t at the point of leaving her yet.

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t talking to Leslie now; he was talking to The Whore.

  She replied, “You sound like just the man for me. Like I said, I’m so horny that I’m almost coming just talking to you. Does it shock you when I talk like that?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I don’t usually speak so crudely but you sound so understanding, I think that I could tell you almost anything.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’d rather not talk so much on the phone. Do you think we could get together real soon? Like right now? My husband’s gone for sure this afternoon, so I’m hoping that you’re available. Do you think that you could meet me in half an hour?”

  “I could do that. Are you going to come here?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. And I can’t let you come over to my house. I’m sure you understand. Do you know the A&W burger place over on Highway Ten just off the Anderson Road exit?”

  “I think so. You mean the one next to the Day’s Inn?”

  “That’s the one. Can you meet me in the A&W at two o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “You’ll recognize me because I’ll be wearing a green sweater with a yellow dress.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’ll I recognize you?”

  “I’ll wear a white tee shirt and blue jeans.”

  “Okay. Great. I’m sure that there won’t be any other men at an A&W dressed like that.” Alex winced at the familiar sarcasm in her voice. “I’ll see you at two.”

  The phone clicked in his ear. He looked at the bedside clock. Twenty minutes until two. He was going to have to hurry or he’d be late.

  In fact, he was more than ten minutes late. When he entered the A&W, he scanned the tables for The Whore. She was nowhere in sight. He was struck by the fear that she might have left already. Then he chided himself. It was her who needed him to come, not the other way around. Suddenly, he felt a soft touch on his arm and swiveled his head to look into The Whore’s misty eyes.

  “You must be my John,” she said with a smile. “You didn’t lie. You’re even younger and more handsome than you claimed in your ad. I think that we’re going to have a lot of fun this afternoon.”

  The Whore had traded her cascades of red curls for a dark blonde ponytail. She looked like a bobbysoxer who had grown up to become a soccer mom. She had a pale green sweater tied loosely about her neck over a light yellow sundress that reached her knees. Her calves were bare and her feet clad in white ankle socks and tennis shoes.

  She looked wholesome.
r />   She looked ready to be despoiled.

  She looked like she needed to be despoiled.

  “When we were speaking on the phone, I thought that we might want to sit for a while with some root beer and talk, but now that I see you in person, I just want to be alone with you. You look like the man from my fantasies and I can’t wait to have you. Do you want me to get us a room at the inn next door?”

  He nodded. “I think that I’d like that very much.”

  “We can’t be seen getting a room together. We don’t want your wife to find out how you spent your afternoon, do we?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ll tell you what. You move your car over to the parking lot next door and wait until you see me come out of the lobby. Then you follow me and see what room I go to. I’ll be watching and let you in as soon as you get to the door. Is that all right?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Of course, a gentleman like you will want to reimburse me for the room. My husband is an awful man. He makes me account for every penny that I spend. If a hundred dollars were missing from my household expenses, then I’d never hear the end of it. Do you have a hundred dollars on you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was sure that a successful man like yourself wouldn’t have a problem helping me out for the room. You don’t have to give it to me now. I trust you. You can give it to me when you come up to our room. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  As Alex waited in his car in the parking lot, he wondered how many personal ads for “horny, cheating wives” were placed on the Internet by professional women who expected to be properly compensated for their time. Probably a lot.

  He did not have to wait long before The Whore came out of the motel lobby. With a start, he realized that she had not had time to check in and register; she must have had the room rented already. Undoubtedly this was her base of operations for the day. The economics were clear. A room would cost a little less than a hundred dollars. But a prostitute would have a few other expenses as well. So, if she turned a single trick in the room, then she’d break even, but if she serviced a half-dozen men in the same room, then she’d make out fine. In fact, she’d have a six-figure income if she worked more than two hundred days a year.