Bob was telling stories about his children, which was fairly rare among her clients, though not entirely unheard of. But his tone and specificity were unusual. Most men painted in broad strokes when talking about their family, trying to keep some wall between the two, even if only waist-high. But Bob’s stories had the details that showed who he was behind his family walls, down to the names of his children.
Dinner lasted hours, her meter running the entire time and Bob not counting a second. He took his time, a lot like when she met Phil at The Broadway. But for Phil, the emotional comfort was part of the sex act. For Bob it didn’t feel like there was any act at all. He spoke honestly and openly, never shielding himself from the truth of a story, even if it made him look like a raging asshole, which it sometimes did. And while Bob clearly loved his children, you would think he’d caught his ex-wife masturbating with a crucifix, judging by the descriptions he gave her.
Their drive from the restaurant usually involved some cock teasing, flashed nipples, or even some snatch if she weren’t wearing panties, which often she wasn’t. And there was always liberal use of her tongue. But that night the cabin had harbored nothing but the still of their blending breath, as his hand traced long lines from her knee to center, never rising all the way.
When they got home, he lay her on the bed and undressed her, an item at a time. Starting with her shoes, then on to her jewelry, stockings and dress. Finally, her bra. He left Sophia with her black panties so she would know he still wasn’t in a hurry.
He loosened his tie, then pulled it from his shirt, watching her, eyes fixed as he kicked off his shoes, peeled his socks from his feet with his toes, then unbuttoned his shirt. He took off his underwear, climbed on top of the bed, and said, “Touch me.”
Sophia started stroking his cock as he covered her with kisses, starting behind her ear, working his way to her ankles, then back to the opposite ear, grazing her breasts and the upper lengths of her inner thighs along the way. Sophia coddled his cock whenever it was within reach, but followed the cue to luxuriate in Bob’s fondling.
She softly purred as his kisses covered her body, toes curling and shortest hairs standing on end. When he peeled off her panties and started to lick her, a warm blade of pleasure slipped inside her flesh.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and a massive moan escaped her lips. “Please,” she begged. Bob teased her clit with the tip of his dick. Sophia kept begging. Finally, he entered her and she cried out, not like she was on the job, but with the fullest sigh that can only come from surrender.
It was one of the few times in Sophia’s life when she had made love, and the only time she’d ever done so with a client. Every time with Bob was wonderful, but there had never been another night like that. She longed for it — more than she’d ever longed for anything in her life.
Sure, it was crazy. But he felt for her like she did for him. She could feel it, inside and out. Yes, there were plenty of reasons it wouldn't work. But there were plenty of reasons it could, too. The world had changed. These days it was more okay to follow your heart, be yourself, and damn the world and all its consequences. People who followed their dreams were no longer laughed at; they were celebrated. Because when it came right down to it, most people didn’t follow their dreams, and rooted for those who had the guts to do so.
Sophia had plenty of money. Not enough to live forever with her current lifestyle, but enough for a while. And a lot longer, if she learned to save like she knew how to spend, which she’d be happy to do if she could hang up her garters forever.
Maybe she was wrong. But what if she wasn’t?
Going to his apartment was impulsive and stupid and she might regret it for the rest of her life, but then again she’d probably regret it more if she didn’t.
If Bob would have her, she’d leave the game forever.
She didn’t need power or money, and knew perfectly well that Bob’s funds were thinning. She didn’t know how bad it was, but his cupboards were barer than they’d been in the beginning. The way Kim flaunted and he sweated, it broke her heart. But she knew for a fact that Bob’s biggest expense would plummet to nothing if the two of them were actually together.
Then again, the nagging voice inside kept taunting — you could be wrong. Maybe she really was just a whore to him, after all.
In the morning aftermath of their last evening together, a beautiful evening that had started with a night at a charity banquet for Alzheimer’s and was second only to the beautiful night following dinner at Ragazzi’s, things had grown odd with Bob.
He woke that morning happy, and said that yeah, coffee sounded great. But he wanted to go out to get coffee. So they hopped in the car and headed for breakfast a bit later.
The odd mood hadn’t been there in bed, either before or after the creampie quickie. And Bob was smiling when he tossed Sophia’s black panties onto the bed and told her to “put them on quick so I can imagine my cum dripping onto the black silk all during breakfast.” The mood also wasn’t there in the car, or while they were looking at their breakfast menu. But by Bob’s second bite of his Acapulco Omelette, his mood was like a winter wind.
The freeze didn’t last long, but the sun never really showed again that morning. Bob smiled and laughed and told her she looked pretty and to have a good morning when he paid her and said goodbye. Sophia figured maybe he felt weird going to breakfast the next morning with a woman he paid to fuck. Or maybe he felt bad not paying for her time. It would be great to get the bullshit out of their relationship. She would be happy if money never changed hands between them again, and if Bob Whitlock would have her, she’d be happy if she was never paid for again.
Sophia parked on the street like always, then stepped into Bob’s apartment building and crossed the marble floor of the lobby to the second row of elevators. She pressed the button and tapped her feet, butterflies at full flutter as her mind fought logic trying to determine if she was about to ride nine floors to the best decision she ever made, or make her personal history’s worst mistake.
The elevator dinged and Sophia stepped inside.
A tall man with a long ponytail stepped in beside her and tried to pretend like he wasn’t undressing her with his eyes. Sophia was used to the stares, but suddenly wondered if this one was different, realizing that she’d not even bothered to look at herself in the mirror, for maybe the first time in her life. Her hair was surely a mess, but for all she knew, she had dried cum caked around her mouth.
Sophia was staring at herself in the elevator mirror when the ninth floor bell chimed. She stepped into the hallway, then pulled out her compact and gave herself a glance. She looked better than she expected, but spent a minute primping before dropping her compact back into her purse.
She walked to the end of the hall, then paused before turning the knob. Bob always left the door unlocked, and preferred that Sophia let herself in. But that was when she was expected, and paid for. She took a deep breath, swallowed, then turned the knob and stepped inside.
The obnoxious sounds of an amateur porno slapped her as soon as she stepped inside – loud and shrieking artificial moans that sounded more like lines from a script than the throws of pleasure.
The sound made her smile. Everyone had their secrets. Bob swore he didn’t like that sort of porn, preferred the artsy stuff. But there was nothing artsy about the porn star sounds coming from the TV in the bedroom.
This will be fun.
If Bob was watching porn, that meant he was hard. And if the porno was still on, he still had to cum. She’d go in the bedroom, plant her mouth on his cock, and lose herself in the moment.
Sophia paused by the island in the kitchen and quickly undressed, then ran to Bob’s bedroom door and burst inside. He was sprawled on the bed, arms dangling over the side as a bleach blond, ten years younger than Sophia, was riding him reverse cowgirl, her big fake tits bouncing as the practiced moaning left her lips.
Sophia stood openmouthed in the doorway.
XXX
Robert Whitlock: Busted Mid-Nut
Robert felt like an absolute sap, getting snared in the world’s oldest trap, and by way of the world’s oldest profession. He was falling hard for Sophia, and had been for a while, though it was only now surfacing as the undeniable truth that it was.
The last time they were together had driven it to inescapable reality.
They were at an Alzheimer’s banquet, where his ex-wife and current source for all his life’s conflict, Kim, and her gold digging, cock sucking, bullshit swilling, fuck face of a boyfriend, were also in attendance. Sophia had spent the evening as his guardian angel, quietly guiding him through the social waters and making him look like a million of his bucks, even after he grew too drunk to navigate with any intelligence himself. They stayed at the banquet until Sophia finally whispered that it was time to go home. She created a story that made Robert sound like the hero he wasn’t, then took him home and treated him as if he lived at the top of Mount Olympus.
You paid an escort to fuck you and leave, but Sophia had made love to him then stayed, waking him with a kiss and a blowjob and an offer for a pot of hot coffee. They went out instead. Robert realized, right there in the middle of breakfast, after his third cup of hazelnut, but before he’d finished his Acapulco Omelette, that he was an absolute goner.
But a relationship with an escort didn’t fit into his life, and Robert knew from his personal history that the best way to sooth the sick from a relationship that isn’t going to work is through a straight shot of distraction. That’s why he had done a quick search, then headed straight to NastyFinder website looking for the trashiest ad he could find. He booked an appointment as soon as he found it:
“Looking for a hole? I have three, and you can use any one you want!”
She was the opposite of Sophia, at least according to the picture in her ad. Sophia was elegant and beautiful, with perfectly maintained porcelain features. She was statuesque, but natural. The girl in the ad had bleached blond hair, big fake tits, and bright red lipstick that practically looked like a neon sign advertising what she probably did best.
In other words, she was the perfect antidote.
Unfortunately, as soon as he opened the door, Robert realized the picture in her ad had to be at least 10 years and 20 pounds earlier. Not that it mattered. All he wanted to do was pound Sophia from his frontal lobe, and the back of that bitch would probably do. But it didn’t work. Maybe he should’ve gone for Separate But Equal – another high-quality escort, rather than the bargain basement, bottom dollar pussy peddler he’d hired instead.
Robert kept his eyes closed as he sloshed around the inside of the nasty slut’s loose fish. He didn’t mind being inside something other men had paid for countless times before, but the street walking window tapper who was taking the brunt of Robert’s punishing thrusts was too used for his tastes, or probably most men’s, even if it was all they could afford. If he hadn’t worked himself up to one hell of a hard on while waiting for the doorbell to ring, Robert would’ve turned her away. He should have anyway. Glazing his own knuckles would have surely been better than fucking a hole stretched by miles of cock.
And in a million years, he never would have done anything if he thought there was a chance Sophia would see it.
Unfortunately, Sophia saw everything.
Robert decided he didn’t want to do any of the work. He was paying the slut to fuck him, after all. So he pulled himself from her dirty twat and lay with his back to the mattress. He was sprawled on the bed with his arms dangling over each side as the homely hooker rode him reverse cowgirl. Everything about her was fake, from her giant tits to her porn star screams. Both were on full display when Robert opened his eyes and saw Sophia standing in the doorway, mouth open wide. He had a single second to register what his eyes didn’t want to believe before he shouted Sophia’s name and blew his load into the condom.
Sophia didn’t even wait for her name to finish its echo through the oversized bedroom. She turned from the doorway, then ran toward the kitchen crying. Robert leaped from the bed, whipped his rubber off and threw it in the corner trash can. The hooker tumbled to the floor.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out,” he said. “Your money’s on the table.”
Robert ran to the front room but the door was closed and Sophia already a memory.
FUCK!
“Sorry if I got you busted,” the bleach blond said as she walked into the kitchen.
“It’s nothing,” Robert said. Then, “Please leave.”
The filthy whore took her money and left. Robert took a three minute shower, threw on some clothes, then left and locked the apartment.
FUCK!
He went down to the parking garage, got in his 911, and tore from his building, pulling a sharp right and merging onto the always busy Barillo Boulevard. He had no idea where to go.
FUCK!
Robert had no idea where Sophia lived, or really anything about her at all, once he started thinking about it. As far as he knew, every word out of her mouth, every whisper, every laugh, every late-night confession, was designed entirely for his benefit. Maybe their conversation was nothing more than a design to get him off, not too different from the way she ran her tongue along the underneath of his shaft, making it flat and wet with pressure as she slipped her finger in his asshole whenever she wanted to make his cock shoot an especially high geyser of goo.
Bottom line: Sophia knew what he liked, and he’d paid her to deliver it for two years running. How could he ever really know what was real and what wasn’t?
Yet the fact that she’d been at his house without an appointment meant one of two things. Either she was calling things off, or getting things going. He was terrified it was the second, and that a dream he’d barely had the balls to fathom was now a dandelion blown to the winds before his wish was made.
FUCK!
Robert may not have known where she lived, but he had her number. “Call Sophia,” he said. The car dialed her cell, but her line went to voicemail on the fourth ring. “Call Sophia,” he said again, just as he did for the four times after that.
FUCK!
On Robert’s fifth call, he tapped the steering wheel, waiting for the voicemail to pick up, then vomited verbiage into the phone as soon as it did:
“Sophia, I don’t know what to say. I’m so, so sorry you had to see that. I’m a total asshole and I have no excuse. What can I say, I didn’t know how else to deal with my feelings for you. The other night, after the banquet, you were my angel, all the way from the appetizer to our whispering goodnight. It’s been a long time since I felt as happy as I did when I woke to see you the next morning, but I was scared. Terrified. And I felt the fear all through breakfast. I only fucked that stupid whore because she wasn’t you. She was the opposite of you, Sophia. You’re elegant and beautiful, and look like everything I’ve ever dreamed of. If you forgive me, I promise to…”
The voicemail cut him off, which was just as well. Another few seconds and he would have been confessing his love, and “I love you” was something you could never take back — a lot like fucking a bleach blond bargain basement hooker that he never should’ve hired in the first place.
FUCK!
Robert drove around another few hours, mostly aimless, though he pointed his Porsche at every fancy restaurant and hotel he could find, forever on the lookout for Sophia’s silver Lexus.
He returned home exhausted, tearing through the door and heading straight for his landline and the answering machine attached. Like his cell, it didn’t hold a single message. Robert cleaned up from his afternoon with the whore, then took a much needed, much longer, and much hotter shower.
Scalding water pounded his back as Robert continued to hate himself.
FUCK!
Could he ever come back from this?
Probably not.
Maybe that was just as
well. He had hired the street walking cum guzzler to rinse his mind from Sophia, after all. Didn’t he get exactly what he wanted, even if he’d wanted it in a different way?
No. Not at all.
Her showing up made all the difference. And until he knew why Sophia had come to his apartment, uninvited and without an appointment, Robert was going to have a difficult, if not impossible time, thinking about anything other than the notion that he just blew a good thing.
He waited a few more hours for Sophia to call, then went to bed, defeated. He pulled off his shirt, stepped from his pants, then slipped into bed completely naked. He rolled his cock in his palm and stroked it up and down, slow and steady, moving in time with the strobing images of Sophia. After a few minutes, he felt his body tense. He pulled the skin back, then held it tight as the first shot erupted from his cock and landed at the top of his chest, followed by three more. The rest dribbled down his knuckles, sending him quickly to sleep.
He didn’t toss or turn, but did spend his sleep with Sophia, with dreams ranging from lingering conversations as they sat on imaginary park benches, to the cock stiffening memories that had Robert stuffing Sophia’s every hole; her mouth, her pussy, the perfect star of her tight and tiny asshole.
He woke in the middle of the night, hard as a steel rod, and milked a fresh batch from his cock atop the already crusting crud, without ever opening his eyes. He woke in the morning to a feeling of bottomless empty, still hard, and more alone than he had ever felt before.
He checked his voicemail, then went through his morning routine; put on the news, made himself coffee, and took a long shower. He checked his voicemail again, then put on his Brooks Brothers to prepare for the day’s meeting. He checked his voicemail, then grabbed an apple and his briefcase, and headed downstairs to his car.
Partly because people always want what they can’t have, Robert spent the entire day rock hard and thinking of Sophia. He managed to focus on his meeting, and even close a deal that shaved .14 cents from the cost of his latest widget, which would net him an additional 32K by the end of the year. But his mind was on Sophia the entire time.
Fifty Shades of Lexi Maxxwell Page 24