Girl for Hire. Various

his fingertips, I came close to climaxing from the thrill of his caresses.

      Our mouths met. He kissed with a slobbering need that would have been unappealing if he hadn’t given me one hundred pounds. Because I could still smell traces of the money in my nostrils, his over-enthusiastic kisses were just another spur to my burgeoning excitement.

      And, when he lowered his mouth to my nipple and began to suckle against me, I told him he was doing it very well. I patted the back of his head. And I stared at the money on the table with avid appreciation.

      The sex was brutally swift.

      I had a pack of condoms in my purse and I rolled one over his erection. He was thick and hard – almost pulsing to my touch as I slid the rubber down his shaft. I worried that I might squeeze the come from him if I rolled it too hard.

      But Peter found a moment’s inner strength and resisted the urge to climax long enough for me to drag him into his bedroom and straddle him on the bed.

      ‘I can’t believe you and I are doing this, Ma– Magenta.’

      He’d almost called me by my name. His last-moment correction made me smile. And that was when I finally managed to slide his thick shaft between my sopping pussy lips. I don’t think he’d fully filled me before my inner muscles were clenching and convulsing around him.

      And, as soon as my orgasm had taken hold, I felt him thrash and pulse and climax as though he was retaliating.

      I left him alone on the bed whilst I disposed of the condom and then went to retrieve my money. I counted it whilst I lay on the bed next to him. Four twenties and two tens. I’d also picked up the spare five pounds because I figured I’d earned the small bonus.

      ‘Have you done this before?’ he asked.

      I shook my head. ‘No.’ I sniffed the money and, without thinking, added, ‘But I’ll be happy to do it again and again as long as you can find the funds.’

      He nodded. ‘But next time,’ he said, ‘I want to do this at a hotel so it’s more convincing.’

      I nodded agreement, inhaling the fragrance on the notes he’d given me. ‘I can live with that,’ I agreed. ‘Although I might increase my prices for hotel work.’

      He thought about this for a moment and then smiled. ‘If I’m paying more money, I’ll expect you to behave like a real slut.’

      ‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘I’ll never behave like a slut. Just a whore.’

      He seemed puzzled by the distinction.

      Rather than explaining, I kissed him. ‘Let’s negotiate money,’ I purred. ‘Then I’ll tell you what you can expect when we’re next in a hotel together.’

      * * *

      3. Be a whore – not a slut.

      I still see Peter on a regular basis. He doesn’t know it but I’m exclusively his. I keep increasing my prices for him because I need the money and he can afford it. Also, paying for it makes him appreciate what he’s getting. And, whilst his demands are becoming more exciting and outrageous every time we get together, I’m determined to make him pay more for each new kink he introduces to our sex life. I’m keen to let him know that I’m his whore: not his slut. And one day I think he’ll appreciate the difference.

      A Red Carnation

      Monica Belle

      ‘Remember, I’ll be wearing a red carnation.’

      Gemma smiled. It was a wonderfully old-fashioned touch, and most things old-fashioned appealed to her, at least when it came to men. Too many were either pushy, or needy, or just plain crazy, but John had behaved like a gentleman from the start and as she got up from the computer she had crossed her fingers in hope that he might at last prove to be the right one. If so, she reflected, it was about time. John would be her twenty-first internet date. Of the previous twenty, twelve had been unsuitable for one reason or another, five had failed to turn up at all, and three had looked so awful that she’d sneaked away from the rendezvous instead of introducing herself.

      Those last three had taught her an important lesson, to always make sure that she could pick him out from a crowd but not vice versa. John seemed nice, gentlemanly but masculine too, with a touch of the paternal that gave her a pleasant sensation of weakness, but then she’d felt the same way about Ian. Online Ian had been suave, voluble and firm without ever going over the boundary, while his pictures had shown a tall, slim man in early middle age, with an intelligent face and a touch of grey at his temples. When she had arrived at the pub where they’d agreed to meet she’d found the same man, but in the sixty-year-old edition, with a bulbous red nose and no hair at all, while his hand had been on her knee and sneaking slowly up her skirt within five minutes of meeting.

      She went to make coffee, her tummy still tight after her conversation with John and her mind racing for the possibilities he offered. It had been a long time, far too long, and for all her need for a gentle but firm seduction by a man under complete self-control she found her thoughts turning to more earthy matters: the feel of strong, masculine hands on her body, the sense of utter vulnerability once her legs were wide and his weight was on top of her and, most of all, the feel of a thick excited cock easing into her vagina. Back at the computer she logged on to her favourite social networking site in an effort to concentrate on something other than the sense of need in her head and between her thighs, but nobody she really wanted to talk to was online and she quickly gave up. She closed her eyes as she unfastened her jeans, speaking to herself as she slipped a hand down the front of her panties.

      ‘You are a disgrace, Gemma, but never mind. One last time and then I’ll have a man, with any luck. Please, God, let this be the one.’

      * * *

      The knot in Gemma’s stomach had been growing tighter with every clack of the train’s wheels. It had always been the same, with every date, her tension rising throughout the journey to reach a peak when the moment came to meet her man. Instead of fading, the sensation had been growing worse, and this time was no exception. What had begun as a fairly casual exercise after the break-up of her marriage had grown ever more desperate, her need ever greater, the disappointment of failure ever sharper. Still she was determined not to compromise, and to present herself as well as she possibly could. For John, and an evening out in the city centre, she had perfected her hair and make-up before slipping into a pair of lacy, figure-hugging panties, which left no trace of their presence beneath the indigo silk of her evening gown, along with sheer stockings and heels to match her dress. Even with a coat on over the top she was drawing glances, some merely curious but many admiring, which gave a much-needed boost to her confidence as she stepped from the train.