by Kara Hart
I feel… horny as fuck. It’s crazy to even say that. Me, a married woman. But Darrin treats me like shit and it’s just about to be over. That man. Walker Hambell. I look at his card again and feel my heart start to pound.
The boyfriend experience? This is something I both want to know about and stay away from. It’s only when I lift up the center of my dress that I realize my panties are soaking wet. Dear lord.
3
Walker
I watch carefully as she gets into her car. The bottom of her dress caresses her wide hips, balancing just right as her ass rocks back and forth. I gulp down hard, feeling the click at the back of my throat. What do I want from her? I want to dive under that dress. I want her to sit on my fucking face. I want to pound that sweet pussy into submission. There are quick images in my mind of my hand around her tits, throat, gripping her ass. God, there’s so much I want to do to that woman.
Funny enough, none of this was planned. It’s just the way things worked out. I went to change the bloody song on the radio and, boom, her bumper is completely destroyed. It’s rather funny actually. My car has barely a scratch.
I drive to my next client’s house and park near her driveway. I glance in the mirror to make sure everything looks right. First, the hair. Next, the shirt. Lastly, the teeth.
Everything has to look perfect for these women. Tonight should be easy, however. I’ve been out with this woman before. No sex demanded. Just some woman who lost her husband the year prior. I never pry too much into their past. I don’t care to, really. For me, it’s just about the money. I don’t need to know or do anything extra.
I walk up to the door, but I can’t get myself to ring the doorbell. That woman I hit earlier. She’s invading my fucking mind. Now, I can’t get her out of my head. She must’ve been twenty-eight or so. Clearly, she was married. I saw her remove her ring with haste. She wants me. That much is obvious. The question is, will she call? The good ones never do. I’m always stuck with the crazy clientele. God, and I handed her my card. The whole thing is embarrassing.
“Walker, dear! So glad you could make it.” Loretta Dawkins, my date tonight, smiles. She’s wearing her classic pearl necklace, an obvious sexual innuendo.
“Darling Dawkins,” I smile. “I’ve missed you, baby.”
The things I have to say. It’s beginning to gnaw it me. This job can be too much at times. I want to go home. I want to step into the shower. I want stroke my thick cock and think about what that woman would look like with her mouth wide open. I want to see what she’d look like bent down, thighs out to the side, while her ass is square to the ground. I have the perfect fucking image in my head. I feel my cock twitch against the front of my pants.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” Loretta says. She’s forty-five. Not old, but not young either. In either case, she’s not my type.
Anyway, the details aren’t important with this woman. She invites me in, pours me a few drinks, and asks me if I’m ready to go. I am in fact ready to leave. The party tonight is a friend of a friend of a friend of hers. She claims, “Our husbands were good friends of one another.” But I can already tell she’s nervous by the way she’s drinking.
In fact, when we finally do leave, she’s shoveled down three vodka tonics and she’s slurring half of her words. Three thousand dollars. That’s how much I’m getting for this. It’s not bad for about eight hours. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for. That, or even less.
We pull into the Grand Hotel and I give the valet my keys. I hold the door open like a gentleman and reminisce about London with her for a bit. These are the parts of the job I tend to enjoy because it’s fun to make up stories. The truth of my life is that I grew up very poor in London. There were no weekend trips up north to go hunting with the hounds. Nor were there any galas with the Prince.
No, my life has been rife with twists and turns that would ruin any woman’s night. I grew up hard, as they say in America. I grew up on the fucking streets. My father ran out on my mum almost five months into the pregnancy. I never met the bastard. My mother? Well, she was just scraping by on crumbs. I vowed never to live like either of them. I promised myself I would live a free and carefree life, in America, the land of opportunities.
The party is fairly big, with over two hundred guests. How a woman has that many friends is beyond me, but I lavish in the free caviar, mussels, and wine. “Open wide!” Loretta exclaims, before stuffing in a square of cheese.
“You’re spoiling me. Really.” I smile and kiss her cheek.
“Oh, how I love to spoil you,” she laughs. “Come, I want you to meet some people.”
She’s much older than most of the guests. I scan the room, hoping to meet some influential people. Someday, I always think, I’ll get out of this business and enter politics. Anyway, it’s the same job when you think about it. Going out with people you don’t really enjoy, laughing at awkward jokes at parties, and falling asleep with the knowledge that you’ll always get what you want.
I bask in the thought a little. I mean, everyone has to have a dream. Just when I smile, do I see her. It’s that woman from the intersection. The woman of my fucking dreams. She sees me out of the corner of her eyes and quickly avoids eye contact. “What the fuck?” I whisper. Why is she being so cold?
“What was that?” Loretta asks. We’ve now entered the social center of Loretta’s life. The table is a few older women, sitting around, laughing about their husbands. Oh, how silly their husbands all are. How stupid they all are. I’ve heard it a million times and frankly, I’m tuning the conversation out.
I can’t stop staring. I don’t give a damn how crazy I look. After a few minutes, her eyes start to dart in my direction. At first, she tries to play it cool. Then, she can’t stop looking over. She blushes, but then her expression turns to annoyance. Honestly, I’m only staring at one thing: that body of hers.
My cock is already hard. I can’t help it. I keep wondering how her skin would feel against my palm and thighs as I’m pumping her, or how her tits might look. It’s the minor details that make a real difference to me. I look at the curve of her thighs. She’s wearing one of those black dresses that cut alongside the legs. Her bottom half drives me fucking wild. How can I man look away from something that sexy?
The woman finally gets fed up. Or, at least I think she does. She grabs her purse and walks into the women’s restroom. “I have to use the men’s room,” I announce all of a sudden, darting from my seat.
“Well, hurry. I want another drink,” Loretta says. “And we all want to hear about your hunting trips growing up.”
“Of course,” I smile. The hunting stories. Always a good one. I walk fast toward the restrooms. I shouldn’t act so crazy, but I’m not worried tonight. Tonight, I have my eyes on this woman and I am not taking no for an answer.
I walk right in, following her. Lucky for me, no one is inside, spare for her, analyzing her makeup in the mirror. I quickly lock the door and she jumps. “What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaims. “Unlock that door, now!”
“Hear me out,” I smile.
“Unlock the door!” she hisses, but reveals a hidden smile. She’s not angry with me. She wants me to be in here with her. I walk toward her. Two steps forward. She takes one step back. It goes on like this for another few seconds, until she stops and we’re left, closer than we were in that intersection.
“What do you want?” she whispers, voice shaky and cute.
“You,” I say. I’m blunt and quick to the point. There’s no time to beat around the bush. I want her. Now. In this bathroom.
“Well, I don’t want anything to do with you,” she says.
She’s lying, I think. I touch the back of her arm. She pulls away, turning red. I put my hand around her waist and she’s looking at me as if I’m out of my fucking mind.
“Stop,” she barely whispers. She smells like chocolate and red wine has stained her lips and tongue.
“You going to call me?” I ask her.
“Maybe,” she says. “I’m married, you know.”
“I know,” I smile. “You think I give a damn?”
“Well, you should. Adultery is a sin,” she says. I have to laugh at that one.
“You’re religious all of a sudden?” I ask.
“No,” she admits. “I just think it’s wrong.”
“Sometimes being wrong is the right choice,” I say. “You don’t like feeling naughty?”
She gulps down and bats her eyes quickly. “I,” she stutters. “Um. I—”
“Shh.” I put my index finger against her lips. I don’t remove it. I kiss her, crushing my lips against my finger, the one barrier keeping our tongues from intertwining. She breathes in hard and deep. I want to feel her cunt. I want to reach out and touch that sweet pussy of hers. I want to see how wet I get her.
She steps back, eyes wide. “I,” she stutters again. I smile and lean against the counter of the bathroom. “I need to go.”
“I’d love it if you call me,” I say.
She ducks her head forward and unlocks the bathroom door. She darts out as a few confused women step in, to find me.
“Sorry, ladies. Stumbled into the wrong bathroom,” I chuckle. Yep. It’s just another day on the job.
4
Erica
I’m soaking wet. Like, drenched. I feel underneath my dress as I sit back down at the table with Renata. My fingers come back dripping, warm. Fuck me. Why did I run away? Why on earth did I tell him I was married? I’m not ready for anything else. I don’t want to be with Darrin, but I definitely don’t want to start sleeping around just yet. I haven’t even packed my things.
This is so wrong. You don’t like feeling naughty? His words echo in my ears. What if he was to reach out and touch me? How would I react? Would I like it? Of course I would. I’d want him to go further. I’d want him to pick me up and set me on that bathroom counter. I’d want him to fall to his knees and eat my pussy. And then, after he’s pleased me, I’d want him to stuff his cock down my throat. Okay, maybe I’m going too far with this. I need to chill, seriously.
“Where have you been?” Renata whispers at me. “You’ve been gone for almost fifteen minutes.”
“I didn’t know I had to check in with you every time I went to the bathroom,” I laugh.
“Sorry. You don’t. It’s just that I’ve been stuck with these women for the past twenty minutes and then you left me, and it’s been truly awful,” she says. “We need to plan our escape. Are you ready to leave?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, looking over at Walker. He glances over at me too, over and over again. His smile gives me shivers. And when I look at his body, I can’t help but imagine all the things he could do to me with his strength. “Why the hell is he with that woman?” I ask aloud.
“Excuse me?” Renata asks. “Who are you talking about? Who is he?”
I awkwardly point with my eyes. “That guy,” I say. “He broke my fender today. Crashed into me.”
“That guy crashed into you?” she asks. “My God, he’s—”
“Perfect,” I whisper.
“He’s hot as hell,” she smiles. “You have to introduce me.”
“Um, no,” I laugh. “He’s a prick. You don’t want to meet him.”
“Erica, please. I need this. I haven’t been on a date in, well, six months,” she says, practically begging. “Just put in a good word?”
How do I tell her that it’s me he wants? “Maybe,” I say. “I really don’t want to have to speak with him again.”
She ponders this over, clearly hurt I won’t help her. After a few seconds she nods to herself and laughs. “Wow, Erica. You like this guy, don’t you?”
“Trust me.” I give a hearty laugh. “I do not like that guy.”
“Bullshit! You like him. You want to fuck him. You want him to pound your tight little pussy,” she taunts me.
I roll my eyes. “Gross. Real ladylike, Ren.”
“I’m just messing with you,” she says. “Anyway, it’s not like you can do anything. You’re a married woman.”
I sigh. I groan. I rub my temples with my fingers. “Not for long,” I admit.
She frowns. “Oh, you’re just going through a slight hiccup. Every woman goes through this. It’s part of marriage,” she says.
“Three different women in five years? That’s part of being married?” I groan even louder and the other women at the table look at me as if I should leave.
Renata just shrugs. “You’re really willing to go through all the court drama just to have this one guy bang you? Darrin cheated on you. Cheat on him. It’s only fair.”
“I don’t think you get it,” I say. “I don’t want to cheat on him. I don’t even want to see him again. Honestly, I’m done. I’ve totally checked out. I’m getting out while I’m still young enough and kid-free.”
Renata huffs. “You’re such a bitch, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard,” I laugh.
“It’s not fair,” she goes on. “I want him too, you know.”
I smile to myself, watching him stare at my body out of the corner of his eyes. The boyfriend experience. The older woman next to him. The smiling and laughing, and telling stories. I think I get it.
I walk over to his table and whisper. “I want to make a trade, Walker.” He looks over at his date for the night. She’s busy talking with her friends, clearly wasted.
“A trade?” he rubs his chin.
“Yes. A trade,” I smile. “You crashed into me earlier. How about we call it even. I want the experience. Whatever it is, I want it. That’s my offer. Anyway, think it over. I’ll be calling you.”
5
Walker
Why the hell did she have to say she wanted the experience? She’s better than that. She doesn’t need to trade with me. The experience is for women who need it. That woman… she doesn’t need it. She deserves better.
I won’t do it, I decide. I’ll only see her if she really wants to see me. This isn’t a job. This isn’t negotiable. I want her, but not as a fucking commodity.
I’m not going to sit back and wait on her, though. She’s tempting, but that’s about it. I’ve been out with every woman there is. Every type, every body shape, and practically every age all the way down to twenty. I have to ask myself, “Is she really that special?” Well, the answer I get to is “probably not.”
Still, when I wake up, I’m thick and hard. I roll over and laugh at myself. No woman to fuck and I’m the prime cut of this city. I walk to my shower and turn it on, waiting for the water to heat up. I’m horny as fuck. Remembering how she looked at the party turns me on to no end. I should have bent her over in that bathroom. I should have made her understand just what kind of a man I really am.
I should have given her a taste of heaven, handed her her wildest dreams, and made her fucking toes curl.
I spit down against my cock. My body feels strong and young. Even at twenty-eight, I haven’t started aging. I take pride in how I look and feel. Yet, that woman barely even recognizes what kind of a prize I am.
I run my hands down and feel the hot water drip down my body. I imagine picking her up in front of me. I see and feel her legs wrap around my neck as her back is pressed hard against the wall. I can taste her as my tongue slides against every single fold. She tastes sweet in this fantasy of mine, but part of me wonders if it’s more like chocolate, like the way she smells.
I start stroking my cock faster, imagining her now, on her knees, spreading her cheeks apart. I love a woman who knows how to treat a man. I can imagine how kinky she gets, begging me to spank her creamy ass. I wonder how deep she likes it. Can she take every inch of me? Can she take a little choking? Will she press my hands down further?
I want to dive in her tits. I want her nipples to drag across my face, until they land perfectly in my mouth, for me to suck on. I want to worship that body of hers, to fall on my knees while she rides me close, whispering, “Cum inside me.”
<
br /> I stroke faster and faster, wrapping my hand around my shaft. My head is slick and growing. I’m going to fucking cum. I nearly lose my balance as I shoot my load down the drain. Such a fucking waste. When it’s over, I’m left feeling empty. There’s no one to kiss. There’s no one to drink with or talk to. It’s just my empty fucking house. And me. How boring.
I go about my day, which consists of me getting drunk on the finest champagne. Ultimately, it gives me nothing. I have over a handful of calls, but I don’t answer any of the numbers I know. I’m waiting for one in particular, but she’s not calling today.
I wait until nightfall to realize that I’m shit out of luck. She’s playing the game harder than any woman I’ve met before. Does she not care about my charm? Didn’t she see those women laughing at my jokes, enamored with every story I told?
I get one phone call from an unknown number and I answer it. “Walker?” a deep voice asks into the receiver. It’s a man’s voice and I recognize it immediately. Hawkins.
“Hawk?” I ask. “Is that you?”
“I knew I’d find you sooner or later. You’ve been running from us for years,” he says. I can picture the ugly smile on his face, the scar that runs down the front, and the eerie hunch in his back as he tries to stand on his own two feet.
“It’s not like I’ve been trying to evade you,” I say.
“On the contrary,” he laughs. “You’ve done a real bang up job doing so. Tell me, how many years has it been?”
“Eight years,” I say. “How’d you find me?”
“Are you really that impressed? You know how we run things. You know we run a tight ship over here,” he says. The bastard’s got me. “Don’t worry. I don’t want anything from you. I’m just… catching up.”