Wife/Tax Attorney by Day, Hooker By Night, P1
Posted: Sun Aug 03, 2025 7:17 pm
I wrote this over the weekend in response to a prompt on Literotica with this prompt.
https://forum.literotica.com/threads/ho ... -101339524
I sat on the couch in my wife’s fastidiously orderly office, the midday sun casting a golden hue over the neatly piled stacks of paper on her desk. The notification on my phone buzzed, reminding me of the Zoom meeting I had set up with my High School buddies. We had kept in touch, but I was the only one still in Dallas. We hadn't spoken as a group in ages, not since the days when our biggest worry was who could buy the beer.
As I connected, the familiar faces of Marcus, Tyler, and Jake popped up on my screen, each grinning ear to ear like we hadn't seen each other in a lifetime. The banter was quick and easy, the years melted away in a flash of nostalgic jokes. We talked about the old days, the wild nights we'd had, and the promise of the reunion we'd been planning for months.
"Next summer, definitely," Tyler said. "Plenty of time to get it on your calendar, so there will be no excuses."
We had all gone in separate directions after school. I had become a truck driver, but was now a truck dispatcher. Marcus was a carpenter. Tyler was a gym teacher and football coach. Jake moved around the most, as he was a Chief in the Air Force. I was the only one who still lived in Dallas. Great guys, great fun.
Marcus leaned closer to the camera, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Remember that night we graduated?" he asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a twinge of heat in my cheeks. That was the night we had all gotten drunk and gone a bit too wild. "Which part?" I replied, trying to keep my voice casual.
"You know," Marcus said, his smile growing wider. "The night we had that... encounter with the... uh, 'professional'."
I couldn't help but laugh nervously, my mind racing back to that sleazy motel room and the woman who looked like she'd seen better days. "Yeah, that was a wild night."
Jake snickered, raising his beer in a toast. "To the good ol' days of humpin’ hookers like a pack of horny bunnies.”
The conversation grew rowdy as we recounted the night's sordid details, the room echoing with our laughter. The woman in question had been a local, her name lost to the annals of time and our collective drunkenness. She'd been the centerpiece of a stoned escapade that was both disturbing and oddly exhilarating in retrospect.
"A toast, to old friends, and old hos!" Marcus laughed.
The conversation grew raunchier as they reminisced about their conquests, and lied about how many times they spurted on her face, the lines between past and fantasy blurring together.
"We should do that again, man," Tyler said, a glint in his eye that suggested he was more than half serious. "Get some action like we used to."
"I'm married, guys," I said, bursting their bubble. "I got a wife. Remember?"
"Oh yeah, Addison! The corporate tax attorney? Sounds B-O-R-I-N-G," Ralph said.
"Yeah, let's get a ho you can bang like a drum," Tyler agreed.
Marcus leaned back in his chair. "It's not like you can't still have some fun, Steve. Maybe we'll find someone who can spice things up for all of us."
"Well, it's not for a year, so we got a whole year to decide,” I said, not wanting to end with a disagreement. “Look, I got to get back to work. But the date is locked. See you all the 2nd weekend in August, next year."
"Should be a scorcher, in more ways than one," Ralph promised.
As the call ended, I couldn't shake off the feeling of excitement and nerves. I had left the study door open, but hadn't even realized Addison was downstairs. I was surprised when she came into the study.
"That was an interesting call," she said, smiling as if she just caught my hand in the cookie jar.
My heart raced. "What do you mean?"
Addison's smile grew. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice dripping with playfulness. "The part about getting a hooker like you did on graduation night."
I froze, my cheeks burning. "How much did you hear?"
Addison sauntered closer, her hips swaying in a way that suggested she'd been listening for a while. "Enough," she said, her eyes glinting. "So, you're planning on purchasing company for the reunion? Since when am I not enough for you?"
Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more. I swallowed hard. "It was just a joke, baby," I said, trying to play it cool. "You know how guys talk."
Addison stepped closer, her hand sliding up my leg. "Was it, though?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. "Or was it the beginning of a plan, to turn a fantasy into a reality?"
Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through me as she rubbed my leg. "Well, it could be," I said, feeling the heat build between us. "Are you giving me a hall pass?"
Addison's smile grew as she wagged her finger in my face. "No, no, no. No hall pass for you, Mister. You're all mine. But there's no reason to let that ring around your finger keep you and your friends from having a little fun."
Her hand slid further up my leg, and I felt her nails dig into my skin. "Maybe," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, "we could all have fun together. Maybe I could join in."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "What did you say?"
Addison leaned back, her smile turning wicked. "I said, I could join in." She let that sink in before she continued. "I mean, it's not like I'm not up for a little... role-play, right?"
The room spun as the implications of her words hit me. "What, like... dress up?"
Addison's eyes sparkled. "Like a hooker, yeah," she said, her voice a siren's song. "I could be the surprise guest of the night."
My mind raced with the possibilities. "Addison, this isn’t like the games we play upstairs. The hotel was really sleazy. And the girl was really cheap looking. Lots of makeup, really trashy. And we came all over. Used her like she was a big rubber. It was pretty degrading."
“Mmmmmm… sounds yummy,” she purred.
Addison's smile grew as she rubbed the bulge in my pants. "Look at you, all excited? I'll have to dress like a $20 hooker? You'd really make me do that?"
The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Addison looked so out of place in the role she was proposing, with her tailored white shirt and khakis. Sexy, sure, but definitely top drawer. She was the epitome of sophistication, a stark contrast to the worn-out crop tops and miniskirts of a cheap hooker.
Addison was old money, and after getting her accounting degree at Wharton she topped it off with a law degree at Harvard. We had met when I was driving a truck, and a girl who could have married the next President chose me. Go figure, huh?
"Babe, you're a corporate tax attorney. You're the furthest thing from a $20 hooker," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden rush of arousal at the thought of her dressing up like one. "It'd be as convincing as a 7-year-old dressed up like Wonder Woman."
Addison raised an eyebrow, a glint of challenge in her eye. "Oh really?" she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "What a snob you are! You think because I went to Harvard I can’t get down and dirty? Well, I did theater classes too, remember? Law is performing. Maybe it's time to show those old friends of yours what a good actress I can be."
I laughed, trying to ease the tension. "But you're not just any Harvard grad, you're my Harvard grad," I said, reaching out to touch her cheek. "And a tax attorney at that. You're not exactly streetwise."
Addison stepped back, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. "Is that what you think of me, Steve?" she asked, her voice cool. "I’m an uptight bitch? I'm too proper to get down and dirty? I'd think after all of these years of us together in the bedroom, you'd know better."
The challenge was laid out in front of me, and I felt myself rising to it. "Okay, okay," I said, holding up my hands. "You got me there."
Addison's smile grew into a full-blown grin. "So, what do you say?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement. "Would you like to see the 'prim and proper' tax attorney become the sluttiest hooker In the best little whorehouse in Texas?"
I couldn't deny the idea was intriguing. She'd always had a wild side in bed, but seeing her role-play something like this was new territory for both of us. Perhaps because she had such an in-charge persona at work, and because her salary was about 20 times what I made, she liked to play submissive roles in bed. The naughty schoolgirl in need of a spanking, a slave girl on the auction block, and yes, a hooker. The classics.
"Always in charge, even when you’re submitting" I teased. "It might be fun to see you knocked off that perch, and taken down a peg or two."
Addison licked her lips, a sly smile playing across her face. "So, you want to see me humiliated, degraded, used?" she whispered, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Sounds delicious."
The thought of watching my refined, high-powered wife on her knees, taking on my blue-collar friends, had my blood pumping. I nodded, unable to form words. The idea was as shocking as it was arousing.
"But wait," I finally managed to say, "you're Addison, the corporate tax attorney with the killer smile. They all want to meet my successful, beautiful wife. You can't just be some cheap whore to them one night and then be the cover of Ms. Magazine the next."
Addison leaned in closer, her breath warm on my cheek. "They don't need to know it's me," she whispered, her eyes dancing with excitement. "I'll wear a wig, heavy makeup, and those ridiculous outfits you described. By the time I'm done, they won't even recognize me."
"I'm not convinced," I said. "But I guess you have a year to convince me," I laughed.
But Addison was not laughing. She looked at me with a steely resolve that was a stark contrast to her playful demeanor. "Let's start right now," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You got $20, Mister?"
Her sudden shift in tone sent a shiver down my spine. I had never seen this side of her, and the thrill was intoxicating. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, handing it to her with trembling fingers. "Here," I said, trying to play along. "So, what do I get for my $20?”
Addison took the bill with a dramatic flair, her eyes never leaving mine. But before she could respond, I had a better idea. I leaned back in my chair and let the money flutter to the floor between us.
Her eyes widened and she smirked before dropping to her knees with the grace of a seasoned performer. She leaned forward, her shoulder length brown hair cascading around her face, and picked up the crumpled twenty with her teeth. The sight was ludicrously arousing, her professional attire juxtaposed with the trashy role play.
Addison held the bill between her teeth, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked up at me and stuffed the money into her absurdly expensive blouse. "$20 for a hummer, Mister?" she asked, her voice a throaty, Southern purr.
"Let's go upstairs," I said, gasping as I unzipped my fly.
Addison winked. "No need," she said, her voice a seductive drawl. She glanced around the room, as if checking for any prying eyes that might be watching us. "We can do it right here. Remember, I gotta lot of tricks to do tonight. Let’s make it fast."
Before I could react, she was on her knees, her hands deftly unbuckling my belt and unzipping my fly. She pulled out my rock-hard penis with a confidence that left me speechless. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked up at me, and licked her lips, teasing me like a real pro. The sight was so unexpectedly arousing, the juxtaposition of her professional attire and the trashy role-play sending my thoughts spiraling into a darker, more primal place.
The room grew quiet except for the sound of my own breathing. She took me in her hand, stroking gently at first, then faster, her eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the blood rushing to my cock, pulsing in time with her touch. She looked so out of place, kneeling on my office floor in her work clothes, about to suck me off like I was a paying customer.
"You like that, baby?" she cooed, her voice thick with a Southern drawl that was strangely convincing. I nodded, unable to speak, as she took the head of my cock in her mouth, her tongue flicking over the tip before she took me deeper. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, but she never broke character, never looked away. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment for years, the perfect opportunity to unleash her wild side.
Addison's hands were like velvet, moving up and down my shaft with a skill that was both paralyzing and exhilarating. She had always been good in bed, but this was something else entirely. This was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. The thought of her with my friends, dressed like a cheap whore, while only a fantasy, was driving my rock hard pecker crazy.
Her eyes remained locked on mine, and she began to suck harder, her cheeks hollowing as she took more of me in her mouth. The sound of her slurping filled the room, and I had to bite back a groan. She had always been adventurous, but this was a side of her I had never seen before. It was as if the idea of playing the part of a hooker had unlocked something primal in her, something that she had been keeping hidden from the world.
Her hand slipped from my shaft and traveled down to my balls, gently massaging them as she sucked me off. The sensation was overwhelming, and I had to grip the arms of my chair to keep from bucking my hips into her face. She was in complete control, her movements deliberate and precise, as if she had done this a thousand times before. I watched in amazement the deep-throat technique she used on me, her throat convulsing around my cock in a way that made me want to lose it right there.
As she worked me, I couldn't help but think about the reunion. The idea of her dressed like a cheap whore, taking on all of my friends, was more than I could handle. It was like watching a movie in my head, a forbidden fantasy coming to life. The thought of Addison, on her knees, with my rough-and-tumble friends using her like some skanky whore, was making me harder than I had ever been.
Of course, showing up the next day would be the real trick. Could she pull it off? Could she play ho at night, and corporate attorney by day? I realized that this blowjob was her audition, and so far, she was passing it with flying colors, at least with the hooker part.
Addison's head bobbed up and down, her eyes watering slightly, but she never broke character. She was fully invested in this role, playing it like it was Oscar night. Her hand was a blur, pumping my shaft in rhythm with her mouth. The sight was so erotic, so wrong, and yet so incredibly hot that I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right then and there.
But the dam was about to burst. I could feel it building in my balls, the pressure growing until it was unbearable. "Babe," I managed to choke out, "I'm going to..."
Addison nodded, her eyes still locked on mine, and took me out of her mouth, her hand moving faster. "Come on," she urged, her voice a whisper, "Finish it, baby."
With a guttural groan, I did just that. My orgasm was intense, a white-hot wave that crashed over me as I shot my load into her waiting mouth. She took it all without flinching, her cheeks hollowing as she swallowed every drop. For a brief moment, I felt like I was king of the world.
As I caught my breath, Addison stood up, her immaculate makeup smudged but her smile as bright as ever. She leaned in and whispered, "You liked that, didn't you?"
"That... that was amazing!" I said gasping.
Rising off her knees, Addison smiled. "The best part is we have a year to practice."
The first few months leading up to the reunion only built the anticipation. We discussed the logistics in hushed tones, the excitement building with every secret conversation. Addison took to her role with surprising enthusiasm, often teasing me by sending me pictures of girls dressed in possible 'work' outfits - tight, cheap fabrics that would barely contain her. The pictures she was sending me were definitely hot-trashy-hooker, with lots of Julia Roberts PRETTY WOMEN pictures.
Speaking of which, a poster of PRETTY WOMAN was soon hanging in her office, next to the picture of her shaking hands with The Chief Justice at a Bar Association seminar.
The opposite wall soon had still another poster hanging next to her Harvard diploma. It was for the movie ANGEL, which had the famous tagline: High School Honor Student By Day. Hollywood Hooker By Night.
Our sex life turned up to eleven. Addison became insatiable, eager to practice her "professional" skills. She'd drop to her knees without warning, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint that sent a shiver down my spine. The feel of her warm mouth engulfing me was heavenly, and the thought of her dressed in those skimpy, trashy outfits kept me hard all day. The thrill of the forbidden had spiced up our marriage in a way I'd never thought possible.
The constant blowjobs were a delightful surprise. She'd perfected the art of rolling a condom onto my cock with just her mouth, the latex unfurling with a smoothness that spoke of hours of practice. Her enthusiasm was palpable, her eyes never leaving mine as she sucked with an intensity that seemed to say, "Look how much dick I can suck." It was as if she were training for a marathon of oral pleasure, and I was more than willing to help her reach her peak.
The rubber was an odd addition to our usually bareback escapades, but in the context of our impending role-play, it added a layer of authenticity. It was a stark reminder of the lines we were about to cross, the boundaries we were about to shatter. Every time she took me in her mouth, her teeth grazing the latex, I felt a thrill of excitement, knowing that come reunion time, she might be doing this for real, in the unlikely event any of this ever happened.
As the months rolled by, Addison's confidence grew, and so did her skills. She'd straddle me at random moments, panties aside, and slip the condom on with a flourish that made my cock ache. Her riding grew rougher, her moans louder, her language coarser. "Oh, you're so big," she'd gasp in her Southern accent, bouncing up and down on me, her eyes rolling back. "I can't take it, stud!" The words were so over-the-top, so exaggerated, that I couldn't help but laugh. It was the whore's lie, delivered as if she were a whore. Yet, the sound of her voice, the way her body moved, the desperate hunger in her eyes - it was intoxicating.
My one complaint was that sucked and fucked so eagerly that I came fast, way too fast. When I'd complain, she'd offer to do me again... for another $20!
Yes, she charged me $20 a pop, but at the end of the week all the money she "earned" ended up in the cookie jar on the counter. Where she got the cookie jar, I don't know, but it was a whore house cookie jar, complete with prostitutes in the windows and at the door, like an X-rated Department 56. Every weekend, the endless $20's I paid her would end up back in the cookie jar, payment to "the house." She kept none of the money... she made more than me, so the thought of my paying for anything was absurd. She was after the skills. I was practice.
I came to realize that making me come fast and extracting more money for seconds was part of her professional repertoire. She began "charging" me for things she had never wanted to do before, like anal, and shooting a load on her face ($50). The sex was wild, but fast, and soon she was charging extra for "the girlfriend experience" of kissing and cuddling.
The next Sunday, she truly surprised me. I had just settled onto the couch after watching the Cowboys game, feeling a bit defeated, when she emerged from the bedroom dressed as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. Her body was tight, her ass more defined than ever, and she had on the shortest, hottest outfit I'd ever seen. It was a role-play within a role-play, and she had really gone all out.
My wife strutted towards me, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "How 'bout them Cowboys?" she said in a thick Southern drawl, her voice a perfect mimicry of a stereotypical Texas cheerleader.
Addison had always had a killer body, but ever since we had scheduled the visit from "the boys" as she called my friends, she had honed herself into something truly magnificent. Her legs looked like they could crush a man's spirit, and her breasts bounced in a way that would make any red-blooded male's head turn. She had even painted her nails in the team colors, the silver glinting in the light as she did a little dance routine that had every part of me sitting up straight.
Over the last several months, Addison had let her hair grow out, longer than I had ever seen it. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, giving her a very cheerleader like appearance. She wore it up in a very sophisticated bun most of the time, and always at work, but I could tell we were going to have fun whenever she (literally) let her hair down.
As she approached me, her pompoms shaking with every step, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. This was my Addison, the woman who helped airlines and energy companies save hundreds of millions on their taxes. Yet here she was, dressed as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, ready to give me the performance of a lifetime.
Her dance was mesmerizing, a mix of sensual moves and athleticism that had me drooling. She spun around, her skirt fluttering to reveal a perfectly round ass that seemed to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. Her thighs were tight and powerful, and she moved with a confidence that was nothing short of awe-inspiring. She had clearly been working on her routine, practicing in secret.
As the music reached a crescendo, she bent over, her pompoms framing her face as she gave me a wink. "You wanna taste the sweetness of a little Southern sugarcane, handsome?" she asked, her voice dripping with honeyed seductiveness. "It'll cost you $100."
$100 was more than I usually "paid", and I realized I was being charged for the role play. But I eagerly dug the bills we had been exchanging out of my wallet and paid her to be my whore.
Addison took the cash with a flourish and tucked it into her tiny skirt. "Thank ya, kind sir," she said, her Southern drawl thick and exaggerated. "Now, are you ready to PLAY?" she asked, shaking her blue and white palm-palms.
The dance she had prepared was a masterpiece of seduction. She gyrated her hips in a way that would make any man forget his name, mixing it in with a lap dance. She had clearly been practicing, her movements precise and deliberate, as if she had studied every cheerleader routine known to man and distilled them into this one, penultimate performance. Her breasts bounced with each twirl, threatening to spill out of her tiny top, and her ass looked like it could bounce a quarter.
The lap dance, alas, was a little too good, and I ended up staining the front of my shorts. Feigning sadness, she offered to "bring me back into the game" as she licked her lips seductively. It took about 20 minutes, but it was the best $40 I ever spent.
As the months flew by, our weekly ritual grew more intense, more detailed. Addison had become a master of the tease, her skills evolving with every encounter. But nothing could have prepared me for the surprise she had in store when I went to pick her up at Dallas Fort Worth Airport after one of her tax policy conferences in D.C.
I had been waiting eagerly at the arrivals gate, my heart racing with anticipation. She had been out of town for nearly a week, and I hadn't seen her since our last rendezvous the night before she left. When she emerged from the terminal she was the very picture of professionalism. She had been presenting a detailed analysis of the latest changes in the IRS code at multiple sessions, and her hair was piled high in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place. She wore a crisp, tailored suit that screamed power and sophistication. She was very much in business mode.
As we approached the car in the parking garage, she stopped short and removed a shoulder bag from her luggage. She had a glint in her eye that told me she had something planned. "I need to freshen up," she said with a wink. "You take this and wait for me in the car. I'll be right out."
I did as she asked, feeling a thrill of anticipation. A few minutes later I was shocked when a hooker tapped on my window. Her face was heavily rouged, with purple eyelids and heavy eyeliner. Her lips glowed from her bright red lipstick.
She was wearing white hot-pants and a white bikini top. I was actually staring at her legs when I realized it was part of the cheer-leading outfit, and I was looking at my wife. Smiling, I rolled down the window a bit, and asked her "How much?"
Her smile grew wider, and she leaned into the car, her tits pressing against the glass. "For you, handsome, it's twenty bucks," she said, her voice a sweet drawl that was a perfect mimicry of the Southern hooker she was pretending to be. "But only if you let me drive," she added with a wink.
I wasn't about to argue with a woman dressed like that, especially when she was my own wife. I got out of the car and she took the wheel, her tight little body sliding into the seat with surprising grace. We pulled out of the garage and onto the road, the car seemingly too small to contain her exaggerated sexuality. She had a way of moving that was both ridiculous and incredibly sexy, a parody of the stereotypical streetwalker that somehow managed to be both absurd and arousing.
"You missed our turn," I said. Addison smiled.
We drove about 15 minutes to the corner of Harry Hines Blvd and Walnut Inn Lane. As we stopped at the street corner, a number of the girls eyed the new girl behind the wheel, who was obviously new competition.
"You're hotter than all these hos," I told her. She laughed as she blew a bubble with her gum.
Addison checked out the other girls, smiling, her breasts threatening to spill out of her bikini top. The other girls on the street stared at us with a mix of envy and confusion. They couldn't figure out why a John would let a hooker drive his Lexus.
The car idled at the stoplight, and I watched as the other women of the night plied their trade, their eyes flicking over to us with every passing car. They were a motley crew, a rainbow of desperation, but my eyes were only for my wife. She had never looked so alive, so vibrant, so... wrong. But in that moment, she was exactly what I needed her to be.
Addison pulled into the Best Rest motel, the hotel we had banged the hooker at so many years before. The neon sign flickering erratically above us. The parking lot was a sea of potholes and crumbled pavement, a stark contrast to the gleaming luxury sedan we had arrived in. As we stepped out of the car, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer hit me like a fist, bringing back memories of that long-forgotten night. The motel looked as if it hadn't been cleaned or repaired since we were last there, and had gone from seedy to disgusting.
"This is a shit-hole, Addison," I said. "Do you really want to do this here?"
Her eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and excitement. "What, you don't think I'm good enough for your fancy friends?" she shot back, her voice dripping with feigned offense. " Fuck you. This is where I work, Mister," she added, pointing to the motel behind her.
I couldn't help but chuckle at her fiery response. She had really embraced her role, and it was turning me on more than I could have ever imagined. "You're more than good enough for them, baby," I said, trying to reassure her. "But I don't want anything to happen to our... my car."
Addison popped her gum. "Fuck you and fuck your car. Leave the drapes open if you want to stare at your precious fucking car, because this won't take long. Now get a room or get out, because I gotta quota, okay?"
Her words were harsh, angry, and felt real. The idea of her working a street corner was absurd, but the way she played it was eerily authentic. It was as if she had become someone else entirely.
Addison strutted away from me, her hips swaying as she sauntered over to the line of hookers parading on the sidewalk, all of them watching her with a mix of curiosity and hostility. She whispered something to one of them, and pointed back at me. The hooker burst into laughter.
"Okay, I'll get a room," I shouted hastily, eager to get Addison back before she got another customer. I truly wasn't sure that she wouldn't dump me and start doing tricks for real, so convincing was her persona.
The motel's lobby was as seedy as I remembered, with a desk clerk who barely looked up from his porn magazine. I asked if 114 was available, the same room at the end we had used over a decade ago, the one that had seen the birth of so many memories of our wild, sleazy night. The rate, $30 for an hour, was quite reasonable.
He eyed Addison with a look that was both lecherous and suspicious. "You new?" he asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity. "Are you one of Jamal's girls?"
Addison nodded, playing the part. "Yeah, baby," she bluffed, her voice thick with a Southern twang. "Just tryin' to make ends meet." She gave him a wink that made him smile and he handed over the key to room 114 without another word. The exchange was so convincing, it was like she'd been doing this for years.
As we walked to the room at the end, her ass swayed hypnotically with each step, the short skirt riding up to reveal her ass cheeks. She looked like a different girl entirely, and I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from her. It was like I was cheating, and I felt that excitement, but without the guilt or the worry of being caught.
The room was a sad excuse for a love nest, a stark reminder of the reality of the life we were role-playing. The carpet was a Jackson Pollock painting of dubious stains, and the smell of cigs and sex hung in the air like a fog. The walls were a garish orange color, as if they had been painted by a colorblind clown on a bad acid trip, and the chair in the corner looked like it was there because it was too beat up to escape the room. The air conditioner rattled in the window, sounding like it was about to shake itself to pieces, and the drapes looked like they hadn't been washed since the last millennium.
Addison stepped over a used condom a previous customer had left on the floor.
At home, Addison was all about appearances, and once got a new Formica counter-top because it got a nick when I was chopping lettuce for a salad. We have a cleaning woman come in once a week, and our bed-sheets were always blindingly white. Looking around, I knew we had pushed it too far; there was no way we were having sex HERE.
Yet again, Addison proved me wrong. "$50 for a handie, $100 for a fuck," she said, falling backwards on the filthy mattress and spreading her legs. "What'll be, Mister?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was my wife, the woman who had taken me for a weekend spa trip to the Four Seasons just last month, offering herself up like a cheap whore in a dive motel. But the game was on, and the thrill of it all had my dick standing at attention.
"How much for half and half?" I asked her, playing along.
Addison looked at me with a glint in her eye, as if she'd been waiting for me to ask that very question. "Oh, baby," she purred, "that's a special deal. Just for you, I'll do it for $125."
I didn't hesitate. I handed over the crumpled bills from my wallet, feeling a thrill as she snatched them from my hand and tucked them into her tiny whore purse while extracting a condom. She looked so wrong in that setting, so out of place and yet so utterly right. The crisp sound of the money changing hands was the only thing that broke the silence, and I felt like I was making the deal of a lifetime.
She stood up, her rouged face a canvas of painted-on lust, and sauntered over to the mirror that was bolted to the wall. She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other playing with her hair, and examined herself critically.
She turned, sank to her knees, and unzipped my pants, "You're gonna get your money's worth tonight, Mr. Lexus."
Looking over, I noticed the drapes were still open. "Umm... I think we need to close those," I said.
Addison shrugged and tossed the condom wrapper on the floor. "You wanted to watch that fancy fuck car of yours, right? So, watch it, hot wheels."
With that, she took the condom into her mouth and began to roll it down my shaft. The way her eyes never left mine, the way she teased it onto me, was mind blowing. Her tongue danced around the protected tip as she worked the latex down, her hands gripping my base as she took me in.
Her technique was flawless, practiced, and professional. I had gotten used to world class blow jobs, but seeing her dressed like this, and doing it in this shit hole, somehow made everything 10 times hotter. She deep throated me easily, taking it like a champ, without the hint of a gag reflex. She was a journeyman, a tradesman at work, each stroke and suck a calculated move to drive me wild.
But despite my best efforts to make it last, so I could enjoy the other half of $125, it didn't take long for me to come. The sight of her on her knees, the sound of her spit slapping against the rubber, the smell of the room, the feel of the sticky carpet beneath my shoes, all combined to push me over the edge. I came hard, filling the condom with hot sticky cum, and she kept sucking until I had nothing left to give.
When I was done, she looked up at me, a smug smile on her face, as if she had just won a prize. "You liked that, didn't ya?" she asked, her voice still thick with her Southern accent. She pulled off the condom and held it up, swinging it back and forth. "Look at all the cream in my cup. Good job, sweetie. Wanna try again?"
I was still gasping for air. “I…dunno. I don’t think I can.”
"Come on," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "You know you want more. It's gonna be $100 more for the full service, baby. But if you play nice, I might throw in a little extra."
She was worth every penny, but this wasn't our pristine bedroom with its blackout curtains and Egyptian cotton sheets. This was a grimy motel room, and she was a hooker and I was her John. I looked over at the window and sure enough, two homeless guys were leaning against the dumpster, their eyes glued to Addison's performance. A teenager across the parking lot had stopped to stare at the car, probably sizing up the security system, and whether this was a bait car.
Remembering Jamal the pimp and seeing some hookers looking in the window as well I decided to call it a night. "Sorry, sweetie, you sucked me bone dry," I said truthfully.
Addison looked a bit disappointed, but she took it in stride, getting to her feet and smoothing down her skirt. "Aw, that's alright, sugar," she said, her voice still thick with the accent. "Maybe next time you'll be ready for the whole shebang."
"Back to the grind!" she said, heading toward the door. For a moment, I actually thought she was going to walk out and join the other girls.
"Addison," I called out, snapping her out of her trance. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to do that tonight. You can come home with me."
She looked a little startled, as if coming home with me wasn't something she had considered. "$500 for the night," she said.
I laughed. "Whatever. Let's go, ho," I said, slapping her on the ass as we left the room.
She did her best hooker strut past the homeless guy and the hookers gathering on the sidewalk. Damn she was sexy.
As we approached the car, one of the other hookers, a woman with a missing tooth and a skirt so short it was practically a belt, called out to me, "Hey, Lexus! Why you just playing with one when you could be playing with all of us?"
Addison looked at her with a mix of amusement and challenge in her eyes. "Oh, you think you got what he needs?" she said, her voice dripping with Southern sass. "Why don't you come over here and show us what you got, sweetheart?"
The missing tooth hooker took a step closer, eyeing Addison up and down. "Looks like you're the one who's out of her league, honey," she spat, her lispy voice a coarse contrast to Addison's sweet Southern drawl.
Addison didn't miss a beat. She leaned on her Lexus, her hand on the door frame, and shot back, "Darlin', I've got more tricks in my little pinky than you've got in your tired ass and tits put together." The other hookers snickered, and the woman's expression grew sour.
I couldn't help but laugh at Addison's quick comeback. She was in character so deeply, it was like watching a Hollywood movie unfold before my eyes. "Let's go," I said, urging her into the car. She slid into the passenger seat, her skirt riding up even higher as she did so, giving me a flash of her barely covered pussy. Her pink panties were soaking wet.
The angry hooker came up to my window, ready to do battle with Addison. "Offer her $300 for her panties," Addison suggested, quickly stuffing a roll of bills into my hand.
I looked at her in shock. "What?!"
Addison smacked her gum, looking un-phased. "Just do it," she urged, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
I rolled down the window and held out the cash. "Three hundred bucks for your panties?" I called out to the missing toothed hooker. She looked at the money, then at Addison, then back at me.
"No shit?" she said. "$300?"
The missing tooth hooker looked at Addison, who nodded and smiled at her. "I want a trophy,” she explained. “The $300 is all yours, if you take 'em off right now."
The hooker eyed the cash, then Addison, and after a moment's consideration, she shrugged. With surprising grace, she shimmied the panties off.
I took the money and handed it to her, our eyes meeting briefly. Her expression was a mix of anger and bewilderment, but she didn't refuse the offer. As she took the bills, she shot Addison a glare that was filled with spite. But Addison just sat there, smiling sweetly, as she took the stained red panties from me, grimacing at the rancid smell as she held them up with just her finger tips.
"What you want with my stinky old pants, girl?" the old pro asked.
"I'm taking them to the lab at the CDC, for study,' Addison said. I very much doubt the whore knew what the CDC was, but she knew Addison was making fun of her. She actually lunged at her, and I had to pull the car away quickly as the hooker cursed us.
Addison laughed as we pulled out of the lot. "That was dangerous, sweetie. What do you want those panties for, anyway? They stink like a brothel."
"I know. I want them because they stink like a brothel," she said. “I want them because they’re totally disgusting.”
"Throw them in the backseat, or open your window," I said. "It's low tide in here."
My dainty wife held the wet, stinky, funky panties up to her nose. "I think they smell fantastic."
"We have to find somewhere for you to change," I said. "We can't have you driving next to me past the Preston Howell Security Guard House looking like that. Your fancy ass gated community is supposed to keep people like you out,” I teased.
Leaning over, Addison unzipped my pants and fished out my limp penis. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll keep my head down."
I couldn't believe what was happening. Her mouth felt SO good. I was spent, but it felt SO good. I gasped in pleasure, slowing down a bit to try and be safe.
"You don't seem to mind this sort of risk," she teased, as she licked my soldier to full attention.
With her head down, the neighbors didn't see anything, and the guard at our gated community was reading a magazine, which he dropped when he spotted Addison's head bopping up and down on my dick. Fortunately, I had already used my key-card to open the gate and was far past him before he could focus. Still, I made a mental note to tip him $100 of Addison’s money for the fine job he was doing tomorrow.
I came as we pulled into the attached garage, in her mouth, no rubber. Makeup smeared, cum dribbling out of her mouth, she grinned at me, and asked me for $200. I told her I didn't have that much on me, but promised to raid the cookie jar as soon as we got inside.
When she came down from her long, hot shower her hair was up, and my corporate tax attorney wife had returned. We ordered Chinese, and she cuddled up next to me on the couch. She picked the movie - some romcom with Anne Hathaway -- and it was the most normal night you could imagine. I struggled to reconcile the hooker who had blown me into oblivion with my tax attorney wife, snuggling against me on the couch. Fortunately, I didn't need to reconcile them, as I had both.
https://forum.literotica.com/threads/ho ... -101339524
I sat on the couch in my wife’s fastidiously orderly office, the midday sun casting a golden hue over the neatly piled stacks of paper on her desk. The notification on my phone buzzed, reminding me of the Zoom meeting I had set up with my High School buddies. We had kept in touch, but I was the only one still in Dallas. We hadn't spoken as a group in ages, not since the days when our biggest worry was who could buy the beer.
As I connected, the familiar faces of Marcus, Tyler, and Jake popped up on my screen, each grinning ear to ear like we hadn't seen each other in a lifetime. The banter was quick and easy, the years melted away in a flash of nostalgic jokes. We talked about the old days, the wild nights we'd had, and the promise of the reunion we'd been planning for months.
"Next summer, definitely," Tyler said. "Plenty of time to get it on your calendar, so there will be no excuses."
We had all gone in separate directions after school. I had become a truck driver, but was now a truck dispatcher. Marcus was a carpenter. Tyler was a gym teacher and football coach. Jake moved around the most, as he was a Chief in the Air Force. I was the only one who still lived in Dallas. Great guys, great fun.
Marcus leaned closer to the camera, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Remember that night we graduated?" he asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a twinge of heat in my cheeks. That was the night we had all gotten drunk and gone a bit too wild. "Which part?" I replied, trying to keep my voice casual.
"You know," Marcus said, his smile growing wider. "The night we had that... encounter with the... uh, 'professional'."
I couldn't help but laugh nervously, my mind racing back to that sleazy motel room and the woman who looked like she'd seen better days. "Yeah, that was a wild night."
Jake snickered, raising his beer in a toast. "To the good ol' days of humpin’ hookers like a pack of horny bunnies.”
The conversation grew rowdy as we recounted the night's sordid details, the room echoing with our laughter. The woman in question had been a local, her name lost to the annals of time and our collective drunkenness. She'd been the centerpiece of a stoned escapade that was both disturbing and oddly exhilarating in retrospect.
"A toast, to old friends, and old hos!" Marcus laughed.
The conversation grew raunchier as they reminisced about their conquests, and lied about how many times they spurted on her face, the lines between past and fantasy blurring together.
"We should do that again, man," Tyler said, a glint in his eye that suggested he was more than half serious. "Get some action like we used to."
"I'm married, guys," I said, bursting their bubble. "I got a wife. Remember?"
"Oh yeah, Addison! The corporate tax attorney? Sounds B-O-R-I-N-G," Ralph said.
"Yeah, let's get a ho you can bang like a drum," Tyler agreed.
Marcus leaned back in his chair. "It's not like you can't still have some fun, Steve. Maybe we'll find someone who can spice things up for all of us."
"Well, it's not for a year, so we got a whole year to decide,” I said, not wanting to end with a disagreement. “Look, I got to get back to work. But the date is locked. See you all the 2nd weekend in August, next year."
"Should be a scorcher, in more ways than one," Ralph promised.
As the call ended, I couldn't shake off the feeling of excitement and nerves. I had left the study door open, but hadn't even realized Addison was downstairs. I was surprised when she came into the study.
"That was an interesting call," she said, smiling as if she just caught my hand in the cookie jar.
My heart raced. "What do you mean?"
Addison's smile grew. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice dripping with playfulness. "The part about getting a hooker like you did on graduation night."
I froze, my cheeks burning. "How much did you hear?"
Addison sauntered closer, her hips swaying in a way that suggested she'd been listening for a while. "Enough," she said, her eyes glinting. "So, you're planning on purchasing company for the reunion? Since when am I not enough for you?"
Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more. I swallowed hard. "It was just a joke, baby," I said, trying to play it cool. "You know how guys talk."
Addison stepped closer, her hand sliding up my leg. "Was it, though?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. "Or was it the beginning of a plan, to turn a fantasy into a reality?"
Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through me as she rubbed my leg. "Well, it could be," I said, feeling the heat build between us. "Are you giving me a hall pass?"
Addison's smile grew as she wagged her finger in my face. "No, no, no. No hall pass for you, Mister. You're all mine. But there's no reason to let that ring around your finger keep you and your friends from having a little fun."
Her hand slid further up my leg, and I felt her nails dig into my skin. "Maybe," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, "we could all have fun together. Maybe I could join in."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "What did you say?"
Addison leaned back, her smile turning wicked. "I said, I could join in." She let that sink in before she continued. "I mean, it's not like I'm not up for a little... role-play, right?"
The room spun as the implications of her words hit me. "What, like... dress up?"
Addison's eyes sparkled. "Like a hooker, yeah," she said, her voice a siren's song. "I could be the surprise guest of the night."
My mind raced with the possibilities. "Addison, this isn’t like the games we play upstairs. The hotel was really sleazy. And the girl was really cheap looking. Lots of makeup, really trashy. And we came all over. Used her like she was a big rubber. It was pretty degrading."
“Mmmmmm… sounds yummy,” she purred.
Addison's smile grew as she rubbed the bulge in my pants. "Look at you, all excited? I'll have to dress like a $20 hooker? You'd really make me do that?"
The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Addison looked so out of place in the role she was proposing, with her tailored white shirt and khakis. Sexy, sure, but definitely top drawer. She was the epitome of sophistication, a stark contrast to the worn-out crop tops and miniskirts of a cheap hooker.
Addison was old money, and after getting her accounting degree at Wharton she topped it off with a law degree at Harvard. We had met when I was driving a truck, and a girl who could have married the next President chose me. Go figure, huh?
"Babe, you're a corporate tax attorney. You're the furthest thing from a $20 hooker," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden rush of arousal at the thought of her dressing up like one. "It'd be as convincing as a 7-year-old dressed up like Wonder Woman."
Addison raised an eyebrow, a glint of challenge in her eye. "Oh really?" she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "What a snob you are! You think because I went to Harvard I can’t get down and dirty? Well, I did theater classes too, remember? Law is performing. Maybe it's time to show those old friends of yours what a good actress I can be."
I laughed, trying to ease the tension. "But you're not just any Harvard grad, you're my Harvard grad," I said, reaching out to touch her cheek. "And a tax attorney at that. You're not exactly streetwise."
Addison stepped back, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. "Is that what you think of me, Steve?" she asked, her voice cool. "I’m an uptight bitch? I'm too proper to get down and dirty? I'd think after all of these years of us together in the bedroom, you'd know better."
The challenge was laid out in front of me, and I felt myself rising to it. "Okay, okay," I said, holding up my hands. "You got me there."
Addison's smile grew into a full-blown grin. "So, what do you say?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement. "Would you like to see the 'prim and proper' tax attorney become the sluttiest hooker In the best little whorehouse in Texas?"
I couldn't deny the idea was intriguing. She'd always had a wild side in bed, but seeing her role-play something like this was new territory for both of us. Perhaps because she had such an in-charge persona at work, and because her salary was about 20 times what I made, she liked to play submissive roles in bed. The naughty schoolgirl in need of a spanking, a slave girl on the auction block, and yes, a hooker. The classics.
"Always in charge, even when you’re submitting" I teased. "It might be fun to see you knocked off that perch, and taken down a peg or two."
Addison licked her lips, a sly smile playing across her face. "So, you want to see me humiliated, degraded, used?" she whispered, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Sounds delicious."
The thought of watching my refined, high-powered wife on her knees, taking on my blue-collar friends, had my blood pumping. I nodded, unable to form words. The idea was as shocking as it was arousing.
"But wait," I finally managed to say, "you're Addison, the corporate tax attorney with the killer smile. They all want to meet my successful, beautiful wife. You can't just be some cheap whore to them one night and then be the cover of Ms. Magazine the next."
Addison leaned in closer, her breath warm on my cheek. "They don't need to know it's me," she whispered, her eyes dancing with excitement. "I'll wear a wig, heavy makeup, and those ridiculous outfits you described. By the time I'm done, they won't even recognize me."
"I'm not convinced," I said. "But I guess you have a year to convince me," I laughed.
But Addison was not laughing. She looked at me with a steely resolve that was a stark contrast to her playful demeanor. "Let's start right now," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You got $20, Mister?"
Her sudden shift in tone sent a shiver down my spine. I had never seen this side of her, and the thrill was intoxicating. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, handing it to her with trembling fingers. "Here," I said, trying to play along. "So, what do I get for my $20?”
Addison took the bill with a dramatic flair, her eyes never leaving mine. But before she could respond, I had a better idea. I leaned back in my chair and let the money flutter to the floor between us.
Her eyes widened and she smirked before dropping to her knees with the grace of a seasoned performer. She leaned forward, her shoulder length brown hair cascading around her face, and picked up the crumpled twenty with her teeth. The sight was ludicrously arousing, her professional attire juxtaposed with the trashy role play.
Addison held the bill between her teeth, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked up at me and stuffed the money into her absurdly expensive blouse. "$20 for a hummer, Mister?" she asked, her voice a throaty, Southern purr.
"Let's go upstairs," I said, gasping as I unzipped my fly.
Addison winked. "No need," she said, her voice a seductive drawl. She glanced around the room, as if checking for any prying eyes that might be watching us. "We can do it right here. Remember, I gotta lot of tricks to do tonight. Let’s make it fast."
Before I could react, she was on her knees, her hands deftly unbuckling my belt and unzipping my fly. She pulled out my rock-hard penis with a confidence that left me speechless. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked up at me, and licked her lips, teasing me like a real pro. The sight was so unexpectedly arousing, the juxtaposition of her professional attire and the trashy role-play sending my thoughts spiraling into a darker, more primal place.
The room grew quiet except for the sound of my own breathing. She took me in her hand, stroking gently at first, then faster, her eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the blood rushing to my cock, pulsing in time with her touch. She looked so out of place, kneeling on my office floor in her work clothes, about to suck me off like I was a paying customer.
"You like that, baby?" she cooed, her voice thick with a Southern drawl that was strangely convincing. I nodded, unable to speak, as she took the head of my cock in her mouth, her tongue flicking over the tip before she took me deeper. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, but she never broke character, never looked away. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment for years, the perfect opportunity to unleash her wild side.
Addison's hands were like velvet, moving up and down my shaft with a skill that was both paralyzing and exhilarating. She had always been good in bed, but this was something else entirely. This was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. The thought of her with my friends, dressed like a cheap whore, while only a fantasy, was driving my rock hard pecker crazy.
Her eyes remained locked on mine, and she began to suck harder, her cheeks hollowing as she took more of me in her mouth. The sound of her slurping filled the room, and I had to bite back a groan. She had always been adventurous, but this was a side of her I had never seen before. It was as if the idea of playing the part of a hooker had unlocked something primal in her, something that she had been keeping hidden from the world.
Her hand slipped from my shaft and traveled down to my balls, gently massaging them as she sucked me off. The sensation was overwhelming, and I had to grip the arms of my chair to keep from bucking my hips into her face. She was in complete control, her movements deliberate and precise, as if she had done this a thousand times before. I watched in amazement the deep-throat technique she used on me, her throat convulsing around my cock in a way that made me want to lose it right there.
As she worked me, I couldn't help but think about the reunion. The idea of her dressed like a cheap whore, taking on all of my friends, was more than I could handle. It was like watching a movie in my head, a forbidden fantasy coming to life. The thought of Addison, on her knees, with my rough-and-tumble friends using her like some skanky whore, was making me harder than I had ever been.
Of course, showing up the next day would be the real trick. Could she pull it off? Could she play ho at night, and corporate attorney by day? I realized that this blowjob was her audition, and so far, she was passing it with flying colors, at least with the hooker part.
Addison's head bobbed up and down, her eyes watering slightly, but she never broke character. She was fully invested in this role, playing it like it was Oscar night. Her hand was a blur, pumping my shaft in rhythm with her mouth. The sight was so erotic, so wrong, and yet so incredibly hot that I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right then and there.
But the dam was about to burst. I could feel it building in my balls, the pressure growing until it was unbearable. "Babe," I managed to choke out, "I'm going to..."
Addison nodded, her eyes still locked on mine, and took me out of her mouth, her hand moving faster. "Come on," she urged, her voice a whisper, "Finish it, baby."
With a guttural groan, I did just that. My orgasm was intense, a white-hot wave that crashed over me as I shot my load into her waiting mouth. She took it all without flinching, her cheeks hollowing as she swallowed every drop. For a brief moment, I felt like I was king of the world.
As I caught my breath, Addison stood up, her immaculate makeup smudged but her smile as bright as ever. She leaned in and whispered, "You liked that, didn't you?"
"That... that was amazing!" I said gasping.
Rising off her knees, Addison smiled. "The best part is we have a year to practice."
The first few months leading up to the reunion only built the anticipation. We discussed the logistics in hushed tones, the excitement building with every secret conversation. Addison took to her role with surprising enthusiasm, often teasing me by sending me pictures of girls dressed in possible 'work' outfits - tight, cheap fabrics that would barely contain her. The pictures she was sending me were definitely hot-trashy-hooker, with lots of Julia Roberts PRETTY WOMEN pictures.
Speaking of which, a poster of PRETTY WOMAN was soon hanging in her office, next to the picture of her shaking hands with The Chief Justice at a Bar Association seminar.
The opposite wall soon had still another poster hanging next to her Harvard diploma. It was for the movie ANGEL, which had the famous tagline: High School Honor Student By Day. Hollywood Hooker By Night.
Our sex life turned up to eleven. Addison became insatiable, eager to practice her "professional" skills. She'd drop to her knees without warning, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint that sent a shiver down my spine. The feel of her warm mouth engulfing me was heavenly, and the thought of her dressed in those skimpy, trashy outfits kept me hard all day. The thrill of the forbidden had spiced up our marriage in a way I'd never thought possible.
The constant blowjobs were a delightful surprise. She'd perfected the art of rolling a condom onto my cock with just her mouth, the latex unfurling with a smoothness that spoke of hours of practice. Her enthusiasm was palpable, her eyes never leaving mine as she sucked with an intensity that seemed to say, "Look how much dick I can suck." It was as if she were training for a marathon of oral pleasure, and I was more than willing to help her reach her peak.
The rubber was an odd addition to our usually bareback escapades, but in the context of our impending role-play, it added a layer of authenticity. It was a stark reminder of the lines we were about to cross, the boundaries we were about to shatter. Every time she took me in her mouth, her teeth grazing the latex, I felt a thrill of excitement, knowing that come reunion time, she might be doing this for real, in the unlikely event any of this ever happened.
As the months rolled by, Addison's confidence grew, and so did her skills. She'd straddle me at random moments, panties aside, and slip the condom on with a flourish that made my cock ache. Her riding grew rougher, her moans louder, her language coarser. "Oh, you're so big," she'd gasp in her Southern accent, bouncing up and down on me, her eyes rolling back. "I can't take it, stud!" The words were so over-the-top, so exaggerated, that I couldn't help but laugh. It was the whore's lie, delivered as if she were a whore. Yet, the sound of her voice, the way her body moved, the desperate hunger in her eyes - it was intoxicating.
My one complaint was that sucked and fucked so eagerly that I came fast, way too fast. When I'd complain, she'd offer to do me again... for another $20!
Yes, she charged me $20 a pop, but at the end of the week all the money she "earned" ended up in the cookie jar on the counter. Where she got the cookie jar, I don't know, but it was a whore house cookie jar, complete with prostitutes in the windows and at the door, like an X-rated Department 56. Every weekend, the endless $20's I paid her would end up back in the cookie jar, payment to "the house." She kept none of the money... she made more than me, so the thought of my paying for anything was absurd. She was after the skills. I was practice.
I came to realize that making me come fast and extracting more money for seconds was part of her professional repertoire. She began "charging" me for things she had never wanted to do before, like anal, and shooting a load on her face ($50). The sex was wild, but fast, and soon she was charging extra for "the girlfriend experience" of kissing and cuddling.
The next Sunday, she truly surprised me. I had just settled onto the couch after watching the Cowboys game, feeling a bit defeated, when she emerged from the bedroom dressed as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. Her body was tight, her ass more defined than ever, and she had on the shortest, hottest outfit I'd ever seen. It was a role-play within a role-play, and she had really gone all out.
My wife strutted towards me, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "How 'bout them Cowboys?" she said in a thick Southern drawl, her voice a perfect mimicry of a stereotypical Texas cheerleader.
Addison had always had a killer body, but ever since we had scheduled the visit from "the boys" as she called my friends, she had honed herself into something truly magnificent. Her legs looked like they could crush a man's spirit, and her breasts bounced in a way that would make any red-blooded male's head turn. She had even painted her nails in the team colors, the silver glinting in the light as she did a little dance routine that had every part of me sitting up straight.
Over the last several months, Addison had let her hair grow out, longer than I had ever seen it. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, giving her a very cheerleader like appearance. She wore it up in a very sophisticated bun most of the time, and always at work, but I could tell we were going to have fun whenever she (literally) let her hair down.
As she approached me, her pompoms shaking with every step, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. This was my Addison, the woman who helped airlines and energy companies save hundreds of millions on their taxes. Yet here she was, dressed as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, ready to give me the performance of a lifetime.
Her dance was mesmerizing, a mix of sensual moves and athleticism that had me drooling. She spun around, her skirt fluttering to reveal a perfectly round ass that seemed to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. Her thighs were tight and powerful, and she moved with a confidence that was nothing short of awe-inspiring. She had clearly been working on her routine, practicing in secret.
As the music reached a crescendo, she bent over, her pompoms framing her face as she gave me a wink. "You wanna taste the sweetness of a little Southern sugarcane, handsome?" she asked, her voice dripping with honeyed seductiveness. "It'll cost you $100."
$100 was more than I usually "paid", and I realized I was being charged for the role play. But I eagerly dug the bills we had been exchanging out of my wallet and paid her to be my whore.
Addison took the cash with a flourish and tucked it into her tiny skirt. "Thank ya, kind sir," she said, her Southern drawl thick and exaggerated. "Now, are you ready to PLAY?" she asked, shaking her blue and white palm-palms.
The dance she had prepared was a masterpiece of seduction. She gyrated her hips in a way that would make any man forget his name, mixing it in with a lap dance. She had clearly been practicing, her movements precise and deliberate, as if she had studied every cheerleader routine known to man and distilled them into this one, penultimate performance. Her breasts bounced with each twirl, threatening to spill out of her tiny top, and her ass looked like it could bounce a quarter.
The lap dance, alas, was a little too good, and I ended up staining the front of my shorts. Feigning sadness, she offered to "bring me back into the game" as she licked her lips seductively. It took about 20 minutes, but it was the best $40 I ever spent.
As the months flew by, our weekly ritual grew more intense, more detailed. Addison had become a master of the tease, her skills evolving with every encounter. But nothing could have prepared me for the surprise she had in store when I went to pick her up at Dallas Fort Worth Airport after one of her tax policy conferences in D.C.
I had been waiting eagerly at the arrivals gate, my heart racing with anticipation. She had been out of town for nearly a week, and I hadn't seen her since our last rendezvous the night before she left. When she emerged from the terminal she was the very picture of professionalism. She had been presenting a detailed analysis of the latest changes in the IRS code at multiple sessions, and her hair was piled high in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place. She wore a crisp, tailored suit that screamed power and sophistication. She was very much in business mode.
As we approached the car in the parking garage, she stopped short and removed a shoulder bag from her luggage. She had a glint in her eye that told me she had something planned. "I need to freshen up," she said with a wink. "You take this and wait for me in the car. I'll be right out."
I did as she asked, feeling a thrill of anticipation. A few minutes later I was shocked when a hooker tapped on my window. Her face was heavily rouged, with purple eyelids and heavy eyeliner. Her lips glowed from her bright red lipstick.
She was wearing white hot-pants and a white bikini top. I was actually staring at her legs when I realized it was part of the cheer-leading outfit, and I was looking at my wife. Smiling, I rolled down the window a bit, and asked her "How much?"
Her smile grew wider, and she leaned into the car, her tits pressing against the glass. "For you, handsome, it's twenty bucks," she said, her voice a sweet drawl that was a perfect mimicry of the Southern hooker she was pretending to be. "But only if you let me drive," she added with a wink.
I wasn't about to argue with a woman dressed like that, especially when she was my own wife. I got out of the car and she took the wheel, her tight little body sliding into the seat with surprising grace. We pulled out of the garage and onto the road, the car seemingly too small to contain her exaggerated sexuality. She had a way of moving that was both ridiculous and incredibly sexy, a parody of the stereotypical streetwalker that somehow managed to be both absurd and arousing.
"You missed our turn," I said. Addison smiled.
We drove about 15 minutes to the corner of Harry Hines Blvd and Walnut Inn Lane. As we stopped at the street corner, a number of the girls eyed the new girl behind the wheel, who was obviously new competition.
"You're hotter than all these hos," I told her. She laughed as she blew a bubble with her gum.
Addison checked out the other girls, smiling, her breasts threatening to spill out of her bikini top. The other girls on the street stared at us with a mix of envy and confusion. They couldn't figure out why a John would let a hooker drive his Lexus.
The car idled at the stoplight, and I watched as the other women of the night plied their trade, their eyes flicking over to us with every passing car. They were a motley crew, a rainbow of desperation, but my eyes were only for my wife. She had never looked so alive, so vibrant, so... wrong. But in that moment, she was exactly what I needed her to be.
Addison pulled into the Best Rest motel, the hotel we had banged the hooker at so many years before. The neon sign flickering erratically above us. The parking lot was a sea of potholes and crumbled pavement, a stark contrast to the gleaming luxury sedan we had arrived in. As we stepped out of the car, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer hit me like a fist, bringing back memories of that long-forgotten night. The motel looked as if it hadn't been cleaned or repaired since we were last there, and had gone from seedy to disgusting.
"This is a shit-hole, Addison," I said. "Do you really want to do this here?"
Her eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and excitement. "What, you don't think I'm good enough for your fancy friends?" she shot back, her voice dripping with feigned offense. " Fuck you. This is where I work, Mister," she added, pointing to the motel behind her.
I couldn't help but chuckle at her fiery response. She had really embraced her role, and it was turning me on more than I could have ever imagined. "You're more than good enough for them, baby," I said, trying to reassure her. "But I don't want anything to happen to our... my car."
Addison popped her gum. "Fuck you and fuck your car. Leave the drapes open if you want to stare at your precious fucking car, because this won't take long. Now get a room or get out, because I gotta quota, okay?"
Her words were harsh, angry, and felt real. The idea of her working a street corner was absurd, but the way she played it was eerily authentic. It was as if she had become someone else entirely.
Addison strutted away from me, her hips swaying as she sauntered over to the line of hookers parading on the sidewalk, all of them watching her with a mix of curiosity and hostility. She whispered something to one of them, and pointed back at me. The hooker burst into laughter.
"Okay, I'll get a room," I shouted hastily, eager to get Addison back before she got another customer. I truly wasn't sure that she wouldn't dump me and start doing tricks for real, so convincing was her persona.
The motel's lobby was as seedy as I remembered, with a desk clerk who barely looked up from his porn magazine. I asked if 114 was available, the same room at the end we had used over a decade ago, the one that had seen the birth of so many memories of our wild, sleazy night. The rate, $30 for an hour, was quite reasonable.
He eyed Addison with a look that was both lecherous and suspicious. "You new?" he asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity. "Are you one of Jamal's girls?"
Addison nodded, playing the part. "Yeah, baby," she bluffed, her voice thick with a Southern twang. "Just tryin' to make ends meet." She gave him a wink that made him smile and he handed over the key to room 114 without another word. The exchange was so convincing, it was like she'd been doing this for years.
As we walked to the room at the end, her ass swayed hypnotically with each step, the short skirt riding up to reveal her ass cheeks. She looked like a different girl entirely, and I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from her. It was like I was cheating, and I felt that excitement, but without the guilt or the worry of being caught.
The room was a sad excuse for a love nest, a stark reminder of the reality of the life we were role-playing. The carpet was a Jackson Pollock painting of dubious stains, and the smell of cigs and sex hung in the air like a fog. The walls were a garish orange color, as if they had been painted by a colorblind clown on a bad acid trip, and the chair in the corner looked like it was there because it was too beat up to escape the room. The air conditioner rattled in the window, sounding like it was about to shake itself to pieces, and the drapes looked like they hadn't been washed since the last millennium.
Addison stepped over a used condom a previous customer had left on the floor.
At home, Addison was all about appearances, and once got a new Formica counter-top because it got a nick when I was chopping lettuce for a salad. We have a cleaning woman come in once a week, and our bed-sheets were always blindingly white. Looking around, I knew we had pushed it too far; there was no way we were having sex HERE.
Yet again, Addison proved me wrong. "$50 for a handie, $100 for a fuck," she said, falling backwards on the filthy mattress and spreading her legs. "What'll be, Mister?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was my wife, the woman who had taken me for a weekend spa trip to the Four Seasons just last month, offering herself up like a cheap whore in a dive motel. But the game was on, and the thrill of it all had my dick standing at attention.
"How much for half and half?" I asked her, playing along.
Addison looked at me with a glint in her eye, as if she'd been waiting for me to ask that very question. "Oh, baby," she purred, "that's a special deal. Just for you, I'll do it for $125."
I didn't hesitate. I handed over the crumpled bills from my wallet, feeling a thrill as she snatched them from my hand and tucked them into her tiny whore purse while extracting a condom. She looked so wrong in that setting, so out of place and yet so utterly right. The crisp sound of the money changing hands was the only thing that broke the silence, and I felt like I was making the deal of a lifetime.
She stood up, her rouged face a canvas of painted-on lust, and sauntered over to the mirror that was bolted to the wall. She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other playing with her hair, and examined herself critically.
She turned, sank to her knees, and unzipped my pants, "You're gonna get your money's worth tonight, Mr. Lexus."
Looking over, I noticed the drapes were still open. "Umm... I think we need to close those," I said.
Addison shrugged and tossed the condom wrapper on the floor. "You wanted to watch that fancy fuck car of yours, right? So, watch it, hot wheels."
With that, she took the condom into her mouth and began to roll it down my shaft. The way her eyes never left mine, the way she teased it onto me, was mind blowing. Her tongue danced around the protected tip as she worked the latex down, her hands gripping my base as she took me in.
Her technique was flawless, practiced, and professional. I had gotten used to world class blow jobs, but seeing her dressed like this, and doing it in this shit hole, somehow made everything 10 times hotter. She deep throated me easily, taking it like a champ, without the hint of a gag reflex. She was a journeyman, a tradesman at work, each stroke and suck a calculated move to drive me wild.
But despite my best efforts to make it last, so I could enjoy the other half of $125, it didn't take long for me to come. The sight of her on her knees, the sound of her spit slapping against the rubber, the smell of the room, the feel of the sticky carpet beneath my shoes, all combined to push me over the edge. I came hard, filling the condom with hot sticky cum, and she kept sucking until I had nothing left to give.
When I was done, she looked up at me, a smug smile on her face, as if she had just won a prize. "You liked that, didn't ya?" she asked, her voice still thick with her Southern accent. She pulled off the condom and held it up, swinging it back and forth. "Look at all the cream in my cup. Good job, sweetie. Wanna try again?"
I was still gasping for air. “I…dunno. I don’t think I can.”
"Come on," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "You know you want more. It's gonna be $100 more for the full service, baby. But if you play nice, I might throw in a little extra."
She was worth every penny, but this wasn't our pristine bedroom with its blackout curtains and Egyptian cotton sheets. This was a grimy motel room, and she was a hooker and I was her John. I looked over at the window and sure enough, two homeless guys were leaning against the dumpster, their eyes glued to Addison's performance. A teenager across the parking lot had stopped to stare at the car, probably sizing up the security system, and whether this was a bait car.
Remembering Jamal the pimp and seeing some hookers looking in the window as well I decided to call it a night. "Sorry, sweetie, you sucked me bone dry," I said truthfully.
Addison looked a bit disappointed, but she took it in stride, getting to her feet and smoothing down her skirt. "Aw, that's alright, sugar," she said, her voice still thick with the accent. "Maybe next time you'll be ready for the whole shebang."
"Back to the grind!" she said, heading toward the door. For a moment, I actually thought she was going to walk out and join the other girls.
"Addison," I called out, snapping her out of her trance. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to do that tonight. You can come home with me."
She looked a little startled, as if coming home with me wasn't something she had considered. "$500 for the night," she said.
I laughed. "Whatever. Let's go, ho," I said, slapping her on the ass as we left the room.
She did her best hooker strut past the homeless guy and the hookers gathering on the sidewalk. Damn she was sexy.
As we approached the car, one of the other hookers, a woman with a missing tooth and a skirt so short it was practically a belt, called out to me, "Hey, Lexus! Why you just playing with one when you could be playing with all of us?"
Addison looked at her with a mix of amusement and challenge in her eyes. "Oh, you think you got what he needs?" she said, her voice dripping with Southern sass. "Why don't you come over here and show us what you got, sweetheart?"
The missing tooth hooker took a step closer, eyeing Addison up and down. "Looks like you're the one who's out of her league, honey," she spat, her lispy voice a coarse contrast to Addison's sweet Southern drawl.
Addison didn't miss a beat. She leaned on her Lexus, her hand on the door frame, and shot back, "Darlin', I've got more tricks in my little pinky than you've got in your tired ass and tits put together." The other hookers snickered, and the woman's expression grew sour.
I couldn't help but laugh at Addison's quick comeback. She was in character so deeply, it was like watching a Hollywood movie unfold before my eyes. "Let's go," I said, urging her into the car. She slid into the passenger seat, her skirt riding up even higher as she did so, giving me a flash of her barely covered pussy. Her pink panties were soaking wet.
The angry hooker came up to my window, ready to do battle with Addison. "Offer her $300 for her panties," Addison suggested, quickly stuffing a roll of bills into my hand.
I looked at her in shock. "What?!"
Addison smacked her gum, looking un-phased. "Just do it," she urged, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
I rolled down the window and held out the cash. "Three hundred bucks for your panties?" I called out to the missing toothed hooker. She looked at the money, then at Addison, then back at me.
"No shit?" she said. "$300?"
The missing tooth hooker looked at Addison, who nodded and smiled at her. "I want a trophy,” she explained. “The $300 is all yours, if you take 'em off right now."
The hooker eyed the cash, then Addison, and after a moment's consideration, she shrugged. With surprising grace, she shimmied the panties off.
I took the money and handed it to her, our eyes meeting briefly. Her expression was a mix of anger and bewilderment, but she didn't refuse the offer. As she took the bills, she shot Addison a glare that was filled with spite. But Addison just sat there, smiling sweetly, as she took the stained red panties from me, grimacing at the rancid smell as she held them up with just her finger tips.
"What you want with my stinky old pants, girl?" the old pro asked.
"I'm taking them to the lab at the CDC, for study,' Addison said. I very much doubt the whore knew what the CDC was, but she knew Addison was making fun of her. She actually lunged at her, and I had to pull the car away quickly as the hooker cursed us.
Addison laughed as we pulled out of the lot. "That was dangerous, sweetie. What do you want those panties for, anyway? They stink like a brothel."
"I know. I want them because they stink like a brothel," she said. “I want them because they’re totally disgusting.”
"Throw them in the backseat, or open your window," I said. "It's low tide in here."
My dainty wife held the wet, stinky, funky panties up to her nose. "I think they smell fantastic."
"We have to find somewhere for you to change," I said. "We can't have you driving next to me past the Preston Howell Security Guard House looking like that. Your fancy ass gated community is supposed to keep people like you out,” I teased.
Leaning over, Addison unzipped my pants and fished out my limp penis. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll keep my head down."
I couldn't believe what was happening. Her mouth felt SO good. I was spent, but it felt SO good. I gasped in pleasure, slowing down a bit to try and be safe.
"You don't seem to mind this sort of risk," she teased, as she licked my soldier to full attention.
With her head down, the neighbors didn't see anything, and the guard at our gated community was reading a magazine, which he dropped when he spotted Addison's head bopping up and down on my dick. Fortunately, I had already used my key-card to open the gate and was far past him before he could focus. Still, I made a mental note to tip him $100 of Addison’s money for the fine job he was doing tomorrow.
I came as we pulled into the attached garage, in her mouth, no rubber. Makeup smeared, cum dribbling out of her mouth, she grinned at me, and asked me for $200. I told her I didn't have that much on me, but promised to raid the cookie jar as soon as we got inside.
When she came down from her long, hot shower her hair was up, and my corporate tax attorney wife had returned. We ordered Chinese, and she cuddled up next to me on the couch. She picked the movie - some romcom with Anne Hathaway -- and it was the most normal night you could imagine. I struggled to reconcile the hooker who had blown me into oblivion with my tax attorney wife, snuggling against me on the couch. Fortunately, I didn't need to reconcile them, as I had both.
