Giving It Away

Frustrated housewife flirts with the idea of prostitution. She even tries it out, only to find she has no head for business.

Hi, it's Brenda again. Thanks to all you horny dudes who posted such encouraging comments regarding my first literary effort. Well, your wish is my command; you requested more so here it is.

I married for financial security and boy have I got that. My husband is very security minded. He locks up everything, including his emotions. We have sex, but he never really makes love to me. He must be feeling something or he wouldn't have an erection but he just grabs and fucks me in what would be perfect silence if he didn't grunt so much as he shags. I just lie there, take it and try to enjoy it but there's always something missing for me. I need lust. I need passion. I need to feel and share the raw joy of sex. Most of all, I need to feel appreciated as a woman. This simply doesn't happen with Roy, for such is my husband's name. I'm just laid on and pumped until he's shot his load and then - just left to carry as if nothing much has happened which in truth is a pretty apt description of my domestic sex life. Nothing thrilling happens. I tried urging Roy to be more adventurous in bed when we first married, offering him oral, anal, tit fucks, the works; but he merely said he didn't want a common whore as a wife and since he was otherwise keeping me well provided for, I settled for playing nice and dumb and frustrated.

But inside, I couldn't deny or suppress the hunger within me for sexual excitement. I sought relief from violent porn but that only whetted my appetite for the real thing. But where to get it, that was my problem.

One evening, before our children were born, we were driving home from some business function or other and must have taken a wrong turn as we soon found ourselves in unfamiliar, cheaper territory. Darker, narrower streets now surrounded us. We slowed right down in order to figure out which way to turn next. That's when a scantily clad young woman called out to us, asking if we were looking for business. I was impressed. I mean how the hell could she tell we'd just come from a business function?
"Bloody prostitute" was Ron's snorted response and accelerated away - past many more scantily clad young women looking hopefully towards us as we sped by. In that moment, I found myself identifying with them. They were selling their bodies for cash, but wasn't that what I'd done by marrying Roy? But at least there was variety in their sex life. Every cock would be different, every grasping hand would feel different and for sure sex would at least be talked about. What a paradox. Those girls probably crave the sort of secure and comfortable life I live and here was me lusting after the precarious, dangerous lifestyle they had.

That's when the thought struck me "well Brenda girl, what's stopping you?"
My blood ran cold in my veins as I realised the full implications of what I was considering but quickly began to warm as I worked through what was required. Basically, I needed only two things: cheap skimpy clothing and a viable excuse to be out of the house during the evening. A down market catalogue provided me with the first and my Bingo night provided the other. A thin but smart coat to cover up my hooker's uniform would get me safely out of the house and once I'd found my way back to the district where the prostitutes hung out, I could roll the coat up and stash in my big shoulder bag that was apparently part of the uniform. Well, that was the plan - and it worked.

It got me standing on a street corner about ten o'clock one evening feeling a rather cold breeze blowing between thighs that had never before been so exposed to the elements apart from when on a sun drenched beach. I'd chosen a spot away from where the other girls were plying their trade in the hope that I wouldn't have to compete with them for business - and it worked.

After ten minutes of heart pounding anticipation, a car drew up by me, the widow lowered and a rather nervous sounding man's voice asked "how much?"
As I now come to write about it, I'm amazed how shortsighted of me it was not to have worked out some sort of price list in advance but in truth, I hadn't a clue what to charge for what. To cover up my ignorance, I simply replied "everything's negotiable, babe. Why don't we go somewhere quite and see what we can work out."

It worked. I was driven to the back of a closed down factory by somebody else's wide eyed and slightly sweaty middle-aged husband who professed a desire to feel my tits and have his cock sucked before finishing off with a fuck. I hadn't sucked a cock in years but as soon as he nationed it, I was salivating at the memory of how it felt and tasted. But what to charge? In desperation, I asked "what do you usually pay, only to be told "I've never paid, it's the first time I've ever done anything like this."
Well, at this point, a wave of confidence flooded through me. It was clear that he was as much in the dark as to how this all worked as I was, but he didn't know this while I did. This gave me a distinct advantage which I pressed home by saying, "what ever you think you can afford, add an extra twenty to it and we're in business."

It was agreed and I was soon in the back of the car with my bountiful boobs out, having them fondled by a clearly appreciative gentleman who's name I never learned. He lifted them, he squeezed deep into their softness, he kissed and sucked my nipples till they were rock hard and my pussy dripping wet. God, who knew a man's lips and tongue could hold that much electricity! He was soon breathing heavily and I began to fear premature ejaculation for him. Much as I didn't want his adoration of my boobs to end, I instinctively knew it was time to move things on.

"Okay, big boy, nope let's let the bitch see the rabbit!" I've no idea if prostitutes really do talk like that but it sounded good to me and by his own admission, this horny fellow had nothing to compare my performance with. I pushed him away from my boobs and set about unbucking his belt. He took the hint and soon had his trousers and underpants clean off. He was circumcised, which I prefer though I'd never refuse an uncut penis. It was very dark in the back of the car but the whiteness of my punter's erect manhood seemed to create it's own illumination. I went down on him and gobbled him up hungrily. His musky salty taste was like nectar on my tongue but from the way his cock was throbbing and the way he was gasping, it was clear he'd be cumming at any moment. No doubt, he'd have been perfectly content to cum in my gob but with my pussy screaming for urgent attention, I couldn't allow that to happen. I stopped gobbling him, said "let's fuck" and contrived to kick him off the seat so I could lie down with bent legs wide apart to receive him. (I hadn't bothered wearing panties: they seemed rather pointless under the circumstances). He fell on me and his cock found my cunt with such precision that I knew there had to be another woman at home, waiting for him. A woman who, that night at least, was going to be disappointed. Yep, not only was I prostituting myself, I was cheating on Ron by committing adultery. I felt supremely naughty and was loving it. He pushed himself inside me, started humping but then l immediately started to cum. I could feel his cock pulse with every ejaculation because he'd ceased to hump as soon as he began to spurt. He positively growled with blissful pleasure as he experienced the release of orgasm. Having a man demonstrating his enjoyment of me in the way was enough for me to have a little orgasm of my own. Nothing earthshaking, just ripples of ecstatic satisfaction flooding through me. We lay like that for a while till my contracting vagina pushed his shrinking, limp penis out.

He drove me to a few streets away from where I live, and that was that. My first and last time as a hooker as it turns out. Well sex in backs of cars isn't all that comfortable and there's also the problems with controlling pimps to consider. No, I'm basicslly not cut out for that type of life. I can handle the sex, it's the rest I have a problem with. For instance, I forgot to get a condom on my punter but worst of all, I forgot to take his money. Still, I do have a memory that, fingers on clit, I enjoy secretly revisiting.

My life long promiscuity grew out of this adventure and I've more to tell.....if anyone's interested.