Last weekend i spent a wonderful time in Kelowna. At the Delta. A big ass expensive hotel, with nice sheets. But sadly, not a view of the lake. For me anyway.
Technically, I was a prostitute. I was driven in the fellow’s car, had my meals and the room paid for [tho his business covered the room], enjoyed the gifts of lingerie and a summer dress, and got fucked a number of times in exchange.
I returned home with no $100 in my purse or anything tho. So technically… :)
But beyond technicalities, I hooked.
The guy was no stranger. He is the separated husband of a woman who taught at my school until last year. She was hard core in the micromanaging, cold fish, control freak way. She didn’t “get” students. And their need to not work 100% of their lives. They had been together for about 9 years. Married for 5. He got over her intensity and dumped her.
He works in branding/marketing. Two things I REALLY don’t like, but I like his body. And he’s really funny.
Over the weekend, I learned his soon-to-be ex was an intense fucker. Intense like at school. Liked to suck him till he came, then get him hard again and make him work her until she came. Sometimes more than once.
So I did a bit of that. He enjoyed parts of the weekend doing the exact same stuff he did with her, but with the difference being me and my body and my style. Same process, different content he called it. These marketing people, eh! :)
But my highlights were my times to explore what of him i’d always found attractive.
I wore no bra in the car and took off my panties on the highway. Did some rubbing in the car, of me, not him. My breasts and my clit.
And when we checked in i walked into the bathroom, into the shower, turned it on and wet me and my dress all up. And he fucked me all wet on the bed. That started the weekend well.
We got some room service and drank a bit, then he went out to the casino with some clients/marks.
Around 1130pm he phones me and asks if it’s ok to have some boys over to the room. I say sure. Committed to not fucking all 3 of them. And I didn’t, but I know that was a thing in his mind to see if it would end up there. Saucy man.
We all had drinks. They were generally polite, asking what I did, etc., but not so much about how me and “John” met. I guessed he told them, but I don’t think they know much about his marital past. New clients, or newish.
And then they left and I stripped and tied up John and gratified myself beside him on the bed while seeing if he’d cum. Nope. Good boy. Then I ordered pizza.
And while I opened the door only enough to bring in the pizza, John wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t fling the door wide open for delivery boy to see. Cue the porn music. I don’t know why he was worried. Maybe because that’s what I said I’d do with the door.
Saturday, John’s is in conference/meeting/sales/branding/inspiration mode. I miss him all day. Sniff. I got shopping with his two . There are only 7,000 stores on Harvey. And one thing I love about the OK is that wearing a bikini around town, in the Subway, in the mall, is a uniform for some and not a problem for anyone [outwardly anyways].
And when I was in Sweet Dreams there were 3 girls [and by girls I mean 18-20] trying on things. One ended up quite high maintenance because each of the 3 of them and the staff sweetie all had different opinions about her “real” bra size. Clearly she had never had a proper fitting before. But after 19 million opinions she got some truth. 38C not 36D. That was fun to watch. But in the end she had to come to terms with not self-identifying as a D.
After the fitting and more hijinks and tryings-on, I mentioned to her in the corner how I’m a B. And while it’s not size that matters, it IS what you do with it. And I went into my stall and tightened up my bra one clasp and came back out and said that this difference makes a dull evening at the bar quite unpredictable. Then I went back in and loosened it to one clasp too loose and came back out and said, same for this. in a different way. It’s all about how you introduce your breasts to the world. And then I said I’d still fuck a penis regardless of which way it curves. FTW.
Anyway, I came away from there with this:
It’s a nice piece. Feels smooth. So picture this without the discrete bra and panty underneath it and that’s what i wore the rest of the weekend when we were in the room. Lots of access. And it got good and creamy.
Spent some time in the pool and sauna, got a bit frisky with myself in the sauna. That was nice. Then around 430pm John comes back to the room and I model my outfit for him. I ensure some time demonstrating the sheerness with which to see my nipples. And how I can untie the top to pull out a boob for him and rub a recently released cock head on it. And how I can lie back on the bed and push the skirt down to cover my cunt but not hide its terrain. And how I can sit on the back of the couch with one foot up there too showing how such a little skirt allows his cock to rub along my lips while I rub his balls. And how I can hold his phone and take a short video of his cock rubbing my sticky lips [not inside my cunt, mind you, because that would be fornication] and how for all day he hasn’t been able to fuck me that as i pull off the shoulder of my top and push his fingers onto my nipple, that he can cum on the outside my cunt and cream the skirt.
Then we dress for dinner, coMMANdo! With me in a navy sheer top over a cream cami and yoga skirt.
We came back to the room and slipped into the tub for a http://www.soapymassage.com. Me likey.
For breakfast, I sat on his face and he ate my cunt. Then I wouldn’t fuck him. Just kept saying no until it got so late we wouldn’t have enough time to get down to the restaurant to eat before his session. Cutting it close, I made him fuck me fast so we’d still be able to rush downstairs. But I took the poke up against the window with my yoga skirt up in the back, wondering how many people out there were drifting off to find a good local church. No one looked up and stared, though a few did glance up. They weren’t obvious though if their looks lingered.
After a quick tidy up we breakfasted and I swam and we checked out cruised a few girlclothes shops until I found a great summer dress with which to drive home in, coMMando! Of course.
He dropped me off and I felt nothing like a prostitute. I felt like a girl on more than a one night stand. It lasted 3 days, but it was much like a one night stand, which is usually not prostitution. Sure I got food, clothes, travel, rooms, uninterrupted naps, etc. but when i go out on dates, the fellow [only if he's new] pays for dinner and a movie/play/cover and usually drives. And buys me liquor. And I either fuck him or i don’t.
Prostitutes have sex for money.
What’s the difference?
Filed under: Adultery, Bondage, Bras, Breasts, Divorce, Feminism, Fuck Buddies, morality, Nipples, Nudity, One Night Stands, Self-Concept, Self-Esteem, Sex, Sin, skirts | Tagged: prostitution | 1 Comment »