Chapter 15
The arrangement between Shelly and Ira Williams went on for several weeks, with the fat little man dutifully calling on Shelly at regular intervals to satisfy her sexual demands and to donate liberally for the privilege. He was annoyed, but there was nothing he could do. Each time he protested, Shelly threatened to expose his extra curricular activities to his wife. Whether she would actually carry out this threat or not, he did not know, but he couldn't afford to take the chance. In the meantime, he was being-sapped physically as well as financially.
Normally, Ira would have sexual relations with his wife two or three times a week. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it had kept both of them satisfied for many years. But now, with Shelly's constant demands on his body, he was forced to curtail his sexual activities at home to once every couple of weeks. His wife wondered about it and questioned him. He could offer no excuse except that he was getting older. He didn't know whether she believed him or not. He did know, however, that something had to be done, else his long-time marriage would be in jeopardy. There was too much at stake to lose everything now.
Ira thought of a plan. He was almost sure it would work. He would need help. In desperation, he dialed the number of an acquaintance of his.
Ken Riley had blond hair cut in a mod cut and wore a dark charcoal suit and white silk tie that looked almost iridescent, under his bronze face. He stood about six-two and had the appearance of having worked out with weights or exercised diligently for years. He could be described as perfect-his nose, his lips, his eyes, his hair-so perfect that he looked almost unreal. Not that he was soft looking. On the contrary, he gave the appearance of being tough and wiry.
There was nothing halfway about Ken. He was a study of sharp, defined lines and colors. When he wore a color there was no mistaking what it was supposed to be. It stood out on him. The same as his features. When he smiled there was no mistaking that he took genuine pleasure in the act, and when he wanted to display his displeasure or anger there was no question about his emotions.
Right now Ken Riley was smiling as he looked into the puzzled face of Shelly Wymore. She stood in the doorway of her apartment, door partially open, and wondered who this tall, handsome man was who had knocked on her door.
"Yes?" she asked.
Calculating but smiling eyes studied her for a moment. "Ira told me to come and see you," Ken smiled.
"Come and see me about what?"
"He told me all about you," Ken said. "I think you know what I mean."
"Ira told you? Now, what on earth could Ira have told you about me?" She asked the question but it was more a stall for time. Then her heart sunk. Had Ira contrived something to cause her trouble? "Are you a policeman?" she asked shakily.
Ken Riley kept his smile in place. "No, I'm not. Just a friend of Ira's."
"Wh-what do you want?" she asked. She gripped the door a little tighter. Her knees felt a little weak. Her mind spun, failing to remind her that Ira had said something about sending others to her place.
"May I come in?" Ken asked. He took a step forward.
Shelly instinctively moved back.
Ken Riley stepped into the room, still smiling, and studied the look on her face. He was still smiling warmly as he pushed the door shut behind him.
"You didn't say what you wanted," Shelly said, her voice quavering slightly.
"Please don't be scared," he said softly. He offered his hand but Shelly ignored it. "I'm a friend of Ira's. You can call him if you like."
Shelly was studying him, surveying him from head to foot, and trying to figure out why he was here. Although puzzled by his presence, she found Ken Riley a pleasant object to look at. After all, he was a very handsome specimen. And on that subject she considered herself an expert. It did not take her long to see the sexual possibilities this young stud offered.
In the dim light, Shelly didn't look her age. Her dress, although a simple little strapless affair without ruffles or lace or other decoration, looked as though it had been put together in a minute; but it had probably taken weeks of thought because, as Ken continued to study it; he realized that it was full of subtle little touches which emphasized the still-lovely figure of the woman wearing it.
To Ken, she looked like a woman in her thirties, and he watched her breasts rise and fall with her deep breaths as she stood before him. He became fascinated with them. His eyes took in their roundness and he smiled approvingly.
Shelly merely stood there watching him, uncertain as to what she should do. She knew he was letting his eyes rove over her and the look on his face showed his approval. She clutched tightly around herself with both arms, suddenly aware that she should at least try to make a pretense of mild indignation. She turned and walked to the table for a cigarette. Whatever her thoughts had been, they were suddenly and very abruptly washed from her mind by a wave of sexual hunger. Her fingers trembled as she lit her cigarette.
Ken noticed her shakiness. "Here," he said as he glided to her side. A lighter snapped into flame in his bronze hand.
She drew smoke, then exhaled it. "Thanks," she said.
She noticed his hand, strong and masculine, and her heart lurched crazily in her. She moved to the couch and indicated a chair to Ken with the sweep of her hand. She looked at him and a brief smile twitched her lips. She felt her knees go weak. Her heart pounded harder because it seemed to her the warm, measuring look, the look of open invitation she'd seen so many times before, was on his face. There was no mistaking why this handsome young man was here. She sunk into the cushions and gave her dress a slight tug up ward to expose more of her leg.
"So you're a friend of Ira's, huh?" she asked. He nodded.
"And just what did you have in mind by coming here?" She asked the question even though she already knew the answer. "Did he send you for something?"
He grinned broadly. "He thought you might like a change."
Their eyes met and locked for a long minute. Finally, she was forced to look away. She looked down at her cigarette. It had gone out.
Ken stood up suddenly and slipped out of his coat. He hung it over the back of the chair in front of the desk. Then he loosened his tie and laid it over the coat. He stood with his back to her and unbuttoned his shirt. Without turning around, he asked, "Are you getting ready?"
Shelly had already begun to quiver. She knew why Ken Riley had come to her place and she had already accepted the fact that she would go to bed with him. How could she pass up such a virile young man? When he turned around, bare to the waist, she had to close her eyes in a moment of ecstatic emotion at the sight of him. Her entire body trembled and she felt a twinge between her legs.
"I asked you a question," he said.
She recalled his question vividly. She wanted to tell him she had been ready all her life. She had an urge to tear off her clothing and fall on the floor in front of him and feel his strong body atop hers. But she only looked at him dumbly.
"You should be getting undressed," he said. He unbuckled his belt. "Or do you want me to help you?"
Shelly swallowed hard. She reached behind her and ran the zipper down her back, then stood up and slipped out of her dress. She moved hypnotically. She stared at Ken who was stepping out of his trousers. She watched as he slid his shorts down and gasped when she saw his half hard cock hang in a graceful arc away from his body. She reached behind her and undid her bra and shook it off her arms, then slipped her hands under the elastic band of her panties and peeled them off.
"I want you right where you are," he said, coming closer. He put his arms around her and pressed his strong, warm body against hers.
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Shelly managed at last. "What would you have done had I screamed?"
"I knew you wouldn't," he said softly. "Why would you want to scream? You knew why I came."
She gulped. She found trouble explaining to herself what had come over her. She had not been able to play her little man-trap game. He had merely flaunted his body at her and she had capitulated immediately. Was her passion so overpowering that a man merely had to look at her to have her body? Did she have that certain look about her that told men she was willing and al ways ready to go to bed? But what was the use in trying to analyze herself? She wanted sex. She had already agreed to sell it to Ira Williams so why not sell it to any man who had the price? And this young man-Oh, God, what a man!-even if he gave her nothing but his gorgeous body she was ready and willing.
He eased her away from him for a moment. He adjusted his long, thick and hot cock so that it lay against her belly, then pulled her hard against him by taking hold of the cheeks of her ass. Then he kissed her tenderly.
After a long time, after he had kissed her mouth and her nipples briefly, he looked down at her and asked, "DO YOU BLOW?"
She swallowed before answering. "UMMMM, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU LIKE."
"Sit down," he ordered.
She sat on the couch.
He came forward and held his cock in front of her face. He touched her lips with it. She closed her eyes and he put the head of his hot prick first on one eyelid, then the other. He moved it down her face until it was once again barely touching her lips.
Instinctively, she reached out and put her hands on his hips. He had a fresh, clean odor and she could hardly wait to get his beautiful cock in her mouth. She tremored and swallowed noisily. This was so different. She had always been in command before, now she was obeying the man. It thrilled her.
"SUCK IT NOW," he said evenly. And she did.
He moved his hips very little. He held her head in a gentle grip and felt it move back and forth on his dick. He pushed it deep into her throat, then moved slowly backward until she had to lean toward him to keep it in her mouth. He moved a little farther back, causing her to reach out even farther for him. She fell to her knees and crawled after him as he slowly moved across the room toward the bedroom.
At the side of the bed, he sat down while she still held his cock in her mouth. He took her head gently in his muscular hands and moved it away. Her lips were wet and shiny, her face flushed. She stared at the thick, shiny shaft that stood between his legs like a small totem pole. There was a look of hunger in her eyes, as though she wanted to suck it some more.
"NOW I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU," he said. He reached down and pulled her onto the bed.
She lay back in a hypnotic trance, waiting for the long slippery prick to pierce her. She wanted to reach down and open her cuntlips for him, but he nudged her away. She did not insist. He was the master. She would do exactly what he wanted.
Then he fucked her.
Ken Riley was a gentleman; he left three ten-dollar bills on the dresser when he had completed his session with Shelly.
In the cold light of a new day, Shelly found herself shrinking and disgusted with herself. And weary, a weary, tired, worn-out feeling that crept over and dominated her thinking. She had taken the step she had planned and now she found it hard to believe and accept. She was weary, too, from the desperate, fearsome tension that lack of money brought. What her two customers had left would soon be gone. She would have to get more and there was only one way she could get it.
So, she thought, she had been reduced to the age-old art of prostitution. There was no denying it any longer. She could perform a service for a fee. It was as simple as that.
But then, in her weariness, she didn't really care. Her life of mechanical sensuality flashed before her. There was no tenderness in her heart now and she wondered if there ever had been.
She thought of people. They were all alike, she decided. They all wanted something from other people. If they were women, they wanted something from men, and if they were men, they wanted something from women. It was a dreary thought. For the sake of a thrill, a woman had to give her body to the man who wanted to be thrilled. For a moment, she felt she didn't care if she saw another man for the rest of her life. But then, wasn't she, too, getting a thrill in return? And weren't men willing to give her money, support her, for sharing in this thrill? Of course! Why, she told herself, the whole thing was ridiculous. A woman could be paid for something she enjoyed as much, even more so in some instances, than a man and, yet, he was willing to give her additional enjoyment by leaving money.
It was all very logical to some but when she thought it out deeply, it didn't seem to make much sense. Maybe it was a bit unfair and illogical, perhaps even downright foolish.
Her inner consciousness found her thoughts in poor taste, even humiliating, but she ignored it. And, although she cringed at the thought of what her title would be, she nevertheless found it an acceptable way of life. At least, in her present state of mind. She had taken the plunge by forcing Ira Williams to pay her for her body which, in turn, brought the handsome Ken Riley into her bed. Even if she stopped with these two, her label as a prostitute would remain. What was the difference, she asked herself, one time or a thousand?
It was pleasant in a way. It was almost enjoyment, now that she accepted the fact of what she was and what she would continue to be. It had a narcotic effect on her. It was gratifying and she was lulled away by it, passing into a sort of stupor, not really caring for anything else.
Money, money, money, she thought. And sex, sex and more sex to go with it. She saw herself walking through a forest of male organs, hard and erect, each one different in its own way, but each one thrilling and exciting. The very thought of it brought a blush to her cheeks, but it was not from embarrassment but, rather, from the sheer pleasure and wantonness of it.
She had a sudden revulsion for anything decent. It did not fit into her pattern of life. She hated the chaste, the pure, clean little housewives for the simple reason that they were clean and chaste. They, too, could be classified as prostitutes, she told herself. No, they didn't sell their bodies on the open market for a stipulated fee. They sold their bodies for homes and furniture and toasters and clothes. The title of "Mrs." went with this private and exclusive sex.
Sex, in Shelly's eyes, was a natural, vital and very satisfying function, not a commodity to be sold or offered or withheld at the slightest whim of the female. The female should enjoy it as much as the male. It was a delightful act of extreme pleasure for both parties. It was his. It was hers. No strings or conditions attached. She had already told herself that when she sold her body she would enjoy it-and let the man know she was enjoying it. Otherwise the whole idea would be a fraud.
Now that she had made up her mind about what she was going to do, she decided there was no use in prolonging it. Perhaps it was because she feared she might change her mind if she devoted too much time thinking about it. Deep down, she had the sudden realization that this is what she had wanted to do for a long time and she realized, too, that she had always felt the very word to describe women such as herself had always been so repugnant to her. She had known what she was but had always refused to accept it. The simple act of accepting a fee for her body finally toppled her over the brink.
Inside herself, she was curious. She wondered how she would go about actually soliciting. But then she realized she had been doing it all her life. There was no need to alter her methods from those she had practiced in the past. The only difference now would be the asking for money. The thought disturbed her. She recalled the incident in the bar when she had been picked up with the other prostitutes and wished she could consult with Debbie or Peg to learn some of the details of how it should be done. But again, the womanly instinct in her quelled her uneasiness, making her feel inwardly relaxed and reassured, for she knew she could solve this problem the same as she had the many other problems that had confronted her throughout life.
She walked across the room and stood in front of the mirror. She slowly undid her negligee and let it slip to the floor. She studied her body carefully, noting that her once proud breasts had sagged somewhat and there was a slight bulge around her middle. It was not severe, yet took something away from the desirability men had seen in her. She frowned; that would drop the market value of her body somewhat.
She leaned forward and studied her face. A little network of lines had formed at the corners of her eyes and there were small pouches beneath them. She could not pass for a woman in her late thirties, anymore. The telltale streaks of gray in her hair could be dyed, she mused, fluffing her hair with both hands. She put her fingers on her belly and felt the skin. It was no longer tight and firm, but hung loose and slightly flabby. Then she ran her fingers across her pussy and wondered if this once intensely erotic part of her body had lost any of its allure. She patted it affectionately, realizing the passion still raged in her. She dabbed lightly at her clitoris and felt an immediate response. She smiled. Her most important commodity was still in excellent working condition.
Yes, she would take this new way of life and march through it without breaking stride. She would tame it to her whims and desires.
She was a whore now; a real whore, not a self-deceiving, pretending one anymore. Now she could actually make a business of seeking the one pleasure she loved most in life. The forest of male organs loomed in her mind again. An electrifying thrill shot through her.
Shelly threw back her head and laughed with a feeling of freedom she had never known before.
It would soon be dark. The loneliness of her room was beginning to close in on her. She looked wistfully at the approaching gloom through her window. Then she turned back to the mirror and studied her body briefly. With a smile, she patted her pussy with one hand and said, "COME ON, BABY, LET'S GO TO WORK." And that's what she did ....