A Lady Pays Her Penalties

by Ashley Zacharias

  This one, The Whore, had only one client, him, but, as long as she got her hundred dollars, the rules of the game allowed her to consider the price of the room, or any other expenses like wigs and clothes, a sunk cost.

  God, he was a lucky man to have a wife who would go to this much effort and expense for his pleasure.

  The entrances to the rooms were outside so it was easy for him to follow her up a single flight of stairs and down the corridor to the room. He was not close enough to see which room she had entered, but he had no trouble finding her. He simply walked slowly passed the doors until one opened and The Whore beckoned him inside.

  She blushed when she said, “I hate to have to ask you for the money, but, like I said, I can’t let my husband catch me short by a hundred dollars.”

  As he handed her the money, he noticed that she was still not wearing their wedding ring. The Whore did not bother playing the horny housewife role in every detail. Broad brushstrokes were enough for a horny john. Or maybe leaving her wedding ring behind was exactly what a real cheating, horny housewife would do when she went out for an affair.

  The Whore tucked the money into a pocket in her sundress and then kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s have some fun, darling,” she whispered into his ear. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this.”

  She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her socks, then walked barefoot to the king-sized bed and yanked the covers off.

  He followed her lead, kicking his own shoes off.

  When he approached her, she pulled the sweater off her shoulders and tossed it over a chair. The only clothing that he could see was the yellow sundress. The square front was almost low enough to show her cleavage, but not quite. Did it conceal a bra? Was she wearing panties? Or was she naked underneath that single layer of thin fabric? He could not tell. She pushed her hands underneath his tee shirt and pushed it up, running her fingers across his chest. “I haven’t felt a real man in so long.” She kept pushing upward so he raised his hands to let her slide the shirt past his shoulders and over his head. When he was bare to the waist, she bent over and began kissing his chest, licking and sucking on his nipples.

  He didn’t have to wonder if he had a third erection in him; he was painfully hard inside his jeans and boxers. He began undoing his belt and pants to give himself a little relief.

  “Ooh, let me do that.” She lowered her hands to slide his pants over his hips, leaving his boxers in place. After he stepped out of his jeans, she hugged him tight and pressed her crotch against his raging hard-on. She rubbed up and down and said, “My, my. I think you want this as badly as I do. Why don’t you take my dress off? The buttons run down the back.”

  He had to concentrate to reach around and undo her buttons; her action against his crotch was terribly distracting. She pressed a leg in between his and began caressing his inner thighs with it, dialing up the distraction another notch.

  By the time he freed the last button just above the curve of her ass, he was panting like a long distance runner.

  So was she.

  She was holding him around his lower back, the better to press her crotch against his, so it was easy for him to slide the broad yellow straps over her shoulders and let the dress fall to her hips. Her breasts were unfettered. His first question was answered: she was not wearing a bra. He pulled his crotch away from hers so that he could push her dress passed her hips. She was wearing panties. Cotton briefs appropriate for a soccer mom. He pushed his hand into her crotch. The cotton between her legs was wet. She was ready for him.

  “Put me on the bed and take me now,” she whispered as she pushed his boxers down to his knees.

  He pushed her gently down on the bed and pulled her panties off, revealing her downy light-brown hair.

  As soon as she was naked, she threw her arms apart and spread her legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view of her engorged pussy lips.

  There was no need for any further foreplay. He climbed between her legs and wasted no time before working his cock into her.

  She moaned and squealed and then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down on top of her, taking his full weight. “Fuck me hard, John. I’m so horny. I want to be fucked like no woman has ever been fucked before.”

  He obliged.

  It took a while. His third orgasm in less than seven hours did not come as easily as the first two. Toward the end, he felt like he had to force himself a little. Not too much, but enough to be noticeable.

  She helped by rocking against him, pressing and grinding, while her own passion rose to a towering crescendo of ecstasy. She came at the same time as him, screaming wordlessly while her whole body convulsed with pleasure beneath his.

  It was his most enjoyable orgasm of the day so far.

  After he rolled off her and their breathing slowly returned to normal, she rubbed her hand across his chest and said, “Thank you. I needed that so bad. You’ve made me feel like a real woman again.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he replied. His words were truer than he knew.

  After resting for another ten minutes, she said, “I’m going to have to get back now. I can’t risk letting my husband get home early and find me missing in action. He’d spend the rest of the week grilling me about where I was and what I was doing.” She laughed gaily. “He should ask who I was doing, not what. Then I could tell him that I did Long John Silver, the Internet buccaneer.”

  She rolled out of bed and picked his boxers off the floor. When she handed them to him, she said, “Do you think that we might do this again some time?”

  “I think we might,” he answered.

  “I’d like that. You get dressed and I’ll give you my cell phone number. I keep it on vibrate so you can call me and leave a message any time you like. I’m sure that I’ll be able to arrange a time and place to get together again. I need loving on a regular basis and you’re a terrific lover.”

  While he was dressing, she went to the desk and wrote a number on the motel pad. He recognized Leslie’s cell number.

  Then she slipped her panties and sundress back on. It was quicker for her to dress than him, except for the buttons up the back. She offered her back to him and said, “Would you mind buttoning me up?”

  Alex was taken aback. Re-buttoning The Whore’s dress for her was a shockingly domestic act after their fast, passionate sex. The Whore who had been the hot, horny housewife a few minutes ago had already transformed herself into the average soccer mom, ready for the next patron of the cheating wives web site.

  As he walked across the asphalt to his car, he wondered what kind of woman The Whore would be the next time he saw her.

  She was halfway to her maximum quota now. Even if she could not bring him to orgasm again before tomorrow morning, there was a fifty per cent chance that she had already satisfied the hidden outcome of this morning’s roll of the die and escaped punishment.

  That was good because he felt sated. He hoped that he had at least one more orgasm in him, but he would not be willing to bet on it. He remembered the rules of the game and shook his head. There was no way that he would be willing to risk a beating on his ability to perform again. The Whore was a brave and foolish woman to have made her bet.

  But he was eager to see her perform again. She had surprised him three times so far and undoubtedly had more tricks up her sleeve.

  * * *

  When he got home, he found a message waiting for him. The recording of The Whore’s voice said, “I think you’d enjoy a drink before dinner. I recommend taking advantage of the Happy Hour at the Chocolate Lounge. I expect that you’ll be thirsty at six o’clock.”

  He deleted the message. A bar? Kind of a cliché wasn’t it? A hooker picking up a john in a bar. Not nearly as imaginative as the fake horny Internet soccer mom scenario. What if he didn’t feel like hanging around a sleazy bar? He could stay home. Alex thought about the rules outlined in her letter. They were explicit and unambiguous. It was The Whore’s job to find The Jo
hn and make him want her. The John did not have to do anything special.

  Alex didn’t particularly want to go out to a bar alone. Hanging around bars had never been his thing. He resolved to stay home. By six-thirty, she would know that he wasn’t going to show and that would give her plenty of time to come here and offer her services to him in person. It wasn’t like he was making her lose the game. According to her rules, having to figure out what he wanted was the game.

  By five, he was feeling rather bored. He began to watch the clock. By his calculations, if he didn’t go to the Chocolate Lounge, the soonest that he could expect The Whore to get in touch with him was seven. Two hours from now. He could spend the time cooking supper for himself, but he didn’t feel particularly hungry.

  By five-thirty, he was watching the clock almost constantly, trying to make the time pass by sheer force of will. The harder he tried, the more slowly the clock seemed to move.

  By five forty-five, he was deep into speculations about what The Whore was wearing right now. What clothing would she use to pick up a man in a bar? Miniskirt? Fishnet stockings? He had never gone to a bar looking for hookers so he had no idea what they looked like. For all he knew, they might wear business suits. If they looked too obvious, they’d get kicked out, wouldn’t they? It probably depended on what kind of bar it was.

  What kind of bar had The Whore recommended? Was it a swanky joint or a sleazy dive? Out of idle curiosity, he typed “Chocolate Lounge” into Google. Most bars and restaurants had their own web pages and the Chocolate Lounge was no exception. It was a bar in the Marriott hotel downtown. How sleazy could it be if it was in a Marriott? It wouldn’t be so bad to be a single man having a drink in a nice hotel bar. He would just be another business traveler, relaxing after a day of sales meetings.

  It was a quarter after six when he entered the lounge. The room was not empty, but not busy, either. He did not bother to count but estimated that there were maybe a dozen men scattered about, a couple of small groups at tables and a few sitting at the counter. The Whore was already there. She was dressed in a long, skintight black sheath dress with black, medium-heeled sandals. Her hair was black and straight, cut square halfway down her neck at the back and sides and square across her forehead. The dress was backless; in the front, it plunged halfway down her cleavage. There was no way that she was wearing a bra underneath it.

  What really caught Alex’s attention, though, was that The Whore was sitting on a stool right next to another man, a fiftyish fellow in a well-tailored business suit who looked handsome in a slick-salesman kind of way. There was a half-finished martini in front of her but she was ignoring it and devoting her entire attention to the man. She was turned on her stool to face him and was lightly stroking his hand with her fingertips. She had an enigmatic smile on her face. The man had his back to Alex, but he looked like he was laughing at something she had said.

  Alex was appalled. What did she think she was doing? He was John. The John. The Whore’s only client. What was he supposed to do now? He sat down at the corner of the bar so that he was facing The Whore and the stranger and stared daggers at her.

  The Whore was facing his direction but she ignored him. He waited for a flicker of acknowledgement, a smile in his direction, or a glance and a twitch of an eyebrow, at least, but he could find nothing in her face. She could not avoid seeing him so she must be deliberately pretending that he wasn’t there.

  Was this to punish him for being fifteen minutes late? Was she angry that he had almost stood her up?

  She didn’t look angry. She looked cool and detached. Interested in whatever the stranger was saying, but not fawning over him.

  The bartender dropped a list of chocolate flavored specialty drinks in front of Alex and asked him what he wanted. Alex wanted nothing to do with chocolate concoctions. He was going to order a beer but changed his mind and said, “Canadian Club, neat.” He didn’t want to be burdened with a whole beer if he had to finish it fast.

  When the CC came, he said that he didn’t want to run a tab and paid for it, leaving coins on the bar for a tip.

  He drank half the shot in one gulp.

  The Whore leaned over and put her lips to the stranger’s ear. Alex couldn’t tell if she was whispering something to him or kissing him.

  What in hell did she think she was doing?

  Maybe she was thanking the man for the drink and telling him that her husband had arrived at last. Surely that was it. The stranger slipped off the bar stool and offered his hand to her. She held it gently while she slipped off her own stool.

  Alex waited for her to bid the stranger goodbye and then come and ask him if he wanted to party. Instead, The Whore let the stranger escort her out of the lounge.

  Alex sat on the stool like a lump and watched in disbelief as she walked away with the stranger. Through the glass doors, he could see her clutch the strange man’s arm and lean her head against his shoulder as they got near the elevators.

  He downed his drink and rushed out of the bar. He made it only halfway down the hallway when the elevator doors closed on The Whore and the slick man.

  She was gone.

  He didn’t know what to do. His gut was tied in a knot. Was he supposed to go home now? Wait by the elevators for her to return? Stay in the bar?

  He needed another drink.

  He returned to his seat in the lounge and ordered another whisky. When the bartender set it down, he leaned toward Alex and said, softly, “Don’t worry. She’ll be back in fifteen minutes and then you’ll get your shot. She’s been doing this all evening. She always comes back in fifteen minutes. You could set your watch by her.”

  Alex looked at the bartender in shock. All evening? Every fifteen minutes? That would be what? A half-dozen men? More? Most of the men in the bar right now? But before he could ask any questions, the bartender winked and turned back to his business.

  What was The Whore up to? This was just a game. The rules said that she had only one client. She couldn’t meet her quota by earning money from other men, could she? Alex struggled to remember the exact wording of the letter but he wasn’t sure if it said that she had to earn six hundred dollars from him or just pay six hundred dollars earned by selling her services. But it definitely said that he was her only client. Definitely.

  What was she doing right now? Did she have her lips wrapped around the stranger’s cock? Was she bent over a chair with her dress hiked up to her waist and her panties hanging around her knees? Was she flat on her back with her legs spread akimbo, urging the stranger to fuck her deep and hard?

  It was six-thirty before The Whore came back to the bar. She looked as cool and elegant as before. There was not a wrinkle in her dress or a bead of sweat on her brow.

  Was there strange cum swirling around in her cunt? Slick salesman jism coating the back of her throat?

  She’d been doing this all evening? Was she dripping with the semen of half the men in this bar?

  One of the men rose from his chair at the tables and looked in her direction when she sat down at the bar.

  God, no! Not again!

  Alex bounced from his seat and strode over to The Whore. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. He noticed that the man who had stood up was sitting down again, a disappointed look on his face.

  “A martini. Gin, not vodka. Not dry and not shaken. Make it a Gibson.”

  Since when did she know how to order a martini? She was strictly a red wine drinker. The bartender was standing right there. Alex nodded at him. “Like the lady wants.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, tell me about yourself,” the Whore said with a voice as smooth as satin.

  “Nothing much to tell. I’m just an ordinary guy,” he replied, thinking that his answer sounded lame.

  She smiled delicately. “Not so ordinary, I think. I bet you have some stories about yourself that would startle me.”

  “I doubt that. I went to university. After I graduated, I got a lower management job. I’ve
worked my way up to middle management. I’m not stopping there. My career looks bright. There’s nothing interesting in that.”

  “The quietest men have the deepest secrets. Tell me a secret.”

  “What kind of secret?”

  “A deep one.”

  “I don’t have any deep secrets.”

  “Liar.” She laughed. “Tell me who you were fantasizing about the last time you made love to your wife?”

  “What?” Alex felt his face blush.

  “Remember the last time you made love to your wife?” The Whore nodded at the ring on his finger.

  “Sure. I remember.”

  “Who were you thinking about when you came inside her? A movie star? Your secretary? A lingerie model? The woman next door? A whore? Which fantasy gave you that push over the edge?”

  “I was thinking about my wife.”

  “Liar.” The Whore laughed. “Keep your secret if you must. But I can tell you one true thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you make love to me, you’re going to be thinking about me and nobody else. When you come in me, you won’t be pretending that you’re coming in someone else.”

  “Maybe I’ll be thinking about my wife.”

  She laughed again, low and cool. “Why don’t we go up to your room and find out?”

  “I don’t have a room here.”

  “Then you better get one quick because, if you’re not back by the time I finish my martini, I’m going to find a man who does have one.”

  Alex was angry that he was being jerked around so blatantly. But he didn’t want to see The Whore disappear with another man. Last time she must have been pretending. The next time she might do it for real.

  When Alex returned ten minutes later, plastic keycard in his wallet, The Whore was still alone at the bar. Every man in the place was eyeing her, many of them not so surreptitiously. They all wanted her but she had waited for him. He was relieved. And a little flattered.