Chapter 5
SHARON MCKAY GLANCED AT THE CLOCK ON THE kitchen wall. Ten after three. She sighed and picked up the cup of coffee. The liquid was lukewarm. She stood up from the table and carried the cup to the sink. A beer would taste better than a hot cup of coffee, she decided. She'd already had three or four cups since Dan had left.
Getting and opening a can of beer, Sharon took several sips, and then wandered into the living room. She'd already bathed and she guessed that she should dress. Maybe Dan would take her out for dinner. She certainly didn't seem to be in the mood for cooking. She'd cleaned the apartment, the place was spotless-and maybe she should've gone out for the afternoon. She flopped down on a couch. Why was she so restless? Nothing unusual had happened-or was happening.
Her thin robe had parted and she placed the cold can against the nipple on her right breast. She felt the nub expand into a hard spike. She did the same thing to the left nipple and the same thing happened. She smiled. It would serve Dan right if she demanded some action just as soon as he returned from across the hall.
She sipped from the can and then stared at her erect nipples. One and then the other, and then she again touched each one in turn with the cold can. Were Betty's nipples very sensitive? As sensitive as hers? Was Dan enjoying sucking on Betty's titties as much as he enjoyed sucking on hers? Was he enjoying all of Betty's body as much as he enjoyed hers?
Sharon sat up straight and finished the beer. She placed the empty can on a table and then lowered her head and shoulders against the couch. Her robe had parted all the way and she looked along the length of her nakedness. Why did she have to love Dan? Everything would be so simple if she didn't love her husband.
Not that she'd leave him. She liked him, too. But the love caused her to be jealous. If she only liked Dan she would be quite happy. It wasn't just the sex that she loved, either. She loved to be with him, enjoyed living with him-and she sure as hell wasn't making much sense with her thoughts right then. But when had she ever? Since meeting Dan? Never, really.
Three years. For three years she'd loved Dan and for those three years she'd been hoping that he'd say that he loved her. Because he did. She was sure of that. Maybe if she hadn't told him about her profession. And how many times had she thought that? Hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. And she was still glad that she hadn't married him under false pretenses. She would've lived with him without marriage.
The whoring was to have been only temporary. Famous last words! But she hadn't been in too deep when she met Dan. She hadn't been connected with a large outfit where she couldn't get out. She'd jumped at the chance to marry Dan. There'd been love on her part right from the beginning. Her first sexual love, she'd called it at the time-in her own mind-but as time passed, as she'd learned to like and love Dan for many things other than sex, she'd thought that for him she could've even done without the sex. Or would.
Crazy? Maybe. Maybe not. She wasn't really sorry that she loved him, though. And she couldn't keep from hoping that something would happen to make him admit his love for her.
She'd been an easy pickup. They'd met in a cocktail lounge, talked, had a few drinks, and she'd gone for him right from the start. Even before they'd gone to bed, she guessed. Which hadn't been very long. An hour or so, actually, and then they'd screwed for two days and two nights. Practically! As well as finding pleasure in all the other delightful ways, of course.
She hadn't been whoring all that long. About six months. Call girl was the term most pros preferred. Why? What difference did it make? Whore, prostitute, call girl-they were all the same. Party girl, some were called, as if that changed anything. They still screwed for a living. Along with other erotic activities.
She'd drifted into the sex business easily enough. Maybe because she didn't have a family had had something to do with that. Although that wasn't fair to all the female orphans who didn't turn to whoring. She'd had a pleasant childhood and girlhood in the Home. She'd gotten a high school education, even if she hadn't been so good in the brain department.
It had been a strict place. She hadn't seen or experienced any of the sexual hanky-panky she'd read and heard about going on in some such places, anyway. She'd learned to play with herself at an early age. Nobody had taught her. She'd just been hot from the time she could remember. She'd discovered how to give herself pleasure without help from anybody. She'd still been depending upon her fingers, and several other objects, when they'd gotten her a job and allowed her to leave the Home.
What was that fellow's name? Her first boss? Not that it made any difference, but she hadn't thought that she would ever forget his name. It was a fact that she'd never forget him. He'd been a big guy. All except his penis. And that organ had been about five inches, maybe shorter than that. The stiff thing had done the job, though.
The jerk had cried afterward. He'd practically raped her. Up to a certain point, anyhow. He'd grabbed her the second afternoon she'd worked, just after the offices had been closed, and while she was in the little room where the female help kept coats and things. There was also a restroom in there-a damned good thing-and maybe she should've reported him.
But it had felt good. So very good. And she hadn't fought him after a certain point. In fact, looking back, being perfectly honest about it, she'd have to admit that he would've probably stopped if she'd really fought him. She'd struggled a little, of course. But when he'd gotten his hand on her panty-covered crotch she'd practically taken over. She'd even helped to get his prick out of his pants.
Her hymen must've been partially ruptured previously, by her fingers or some other object, because there'd been practically no pain and very little bleeding. She'd cleaned herself while he'd done his crying or sobbing-and had babbled on and on about being sorry-and she'd felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to keep from asking for a raise, though.
That had gotten her five dollars a week extra on her paychecks. And that had lasted for several weeks, until the boss had himself transferred to another city. To get away from her, she'd suspected, because he hadn't really been all that virile or whatever. Once she'd managed to get him up for a second time during their almost daily afternoon sessions, finding pleasure in giving him pleasure with her mouth, but he'd refused to return the favor. The guy had been a stupid drip, really.
She'd gotten her knowledge mostly from reading. The second boss, the one who'd replaced the first, had been very oral. In fact, he'd seemingly preferred if that way. He'd been about forty, older than the big fellow with the little penis, but his penis had been what she'd later found to be about average.
About six inches, give or take a fraction or so, and he'd seen that she'd gotten another five dollar a week raise. She hadn't really thought much about the morals or lack of morals involved. Getting sexual satisfaction had been the most important thing. Even so she'd still had to depend upon her fingers and other objects from time to time-when she was alone in her room.
Then, as time passed, she'd learned how easy it was to get a man. Just as she'd learned, later, that many females gave out with the sexual favors to get a raise in pay and/or better working conditions. Everything in life seemed to evolve around sex, and it had been easy to drift into formal prostitution.
An older woman had gotten her started. Donna Powell had also introduced her to the sexual pleasures possible between two or more women. Her last name had been Jones then-that was the name entered on her birth certificate, anyway-and sometimes she thought it could've just as easily been Smith. Because the people at the Home hadn't really given her much information about her parents or background when she'd gotten old enough to make inquiries.
Donna had been about thirty-two at the time. She'd met the tall and very attractive redhead in a cocktail lounge one evening while in search of a man. In search of a stiff shaft to have and to enjoy, and later she'd even discovered that Donna was capable of helping her along those lines, too. She'd never really cared much for the gadgets some women strapped around themselves, though-preferring the real thing to an inanimate object that reminded her of the many such things that she'd used to give herself a measure of relief.
She'd gone home with Donna willingly enough. In fact, she'd suspected that the greedy-eyed woman was a Lesbian-and she'd been quite anxious to give that form of sex a try. In the passive role, at least, because she couldn't remember ever having any desire to put her mouth on another woman. And when she'd finally done so, with Donna-and later with several other attractive females-it hadn't been what could truthfully be called an earth-shaking event. Not for her, anyhow.
Not that she hadn't enjoyed it. If she hadn't gotten a degree of pleasure while giving such pleasure she would've never continued with Donna-or with other women. She still enjoyed going the whole route with an attractive woman, actually, but sex with men-and mostly with Dan-was far more important to her. And far more satisfying.
One thing she remembered very vividly was how shocked she'd been to find herself kissing another woman on the mouth. That had happened almost as soon as she'd entered Donna's apartment. But her passion had chased away all shock, apprehension, doubts, vague fears, and everything else. She'd actually become the aggressor in the passive role, if that were really possible, and Donna had made some remark about unleashing a sexy wildcat.
The truth, really, because she hadn't allowed Donna to get any rest for hours and hours. The female-or the female tongue-had been so much better, so much wiser, than the few male tongues she'd previously experienced that it was like the difference between day and night. Until she'd encountered her expert husband, of course. Dan, though being all-masculine, if there'd ever been such a being, was in a class by himself when it came to knowing how to please a woman.
She hadn't worked in any offices after meeting Donna.
She'd moved in with the Lesbian, quit her job, and within a couple of days-or nights-she'd voluntarily used her tongue on Donna. She guessed that she'd always be sorry about laughing when Donna had mentioned love. But it had seemed rather ridiculous at the time.
Her emotions or whatever had never been involved even with the many men. And, until she'd met and admitted her love for Dan, she really hadn't been able to comprehend the meaning of the word of term. So, looking at it from all directions, from Donna's viewpoint, she couldn't blame Donna for bringing in another woman for a threesome.
That had been way-out wild, as had the foursomes, the group-sex Lesbianism, and she'd sure as hell been drunk on sex for days and days-and nights. And she really hadn't been surprised to discover that Donna was a professional prostitute. She'd already read somewhere that the vast majority of American whores were bascially gay.
She'd willingly gone along with Donna's suggestion that she earn her keep, her living, and being a call girl-a whore-was really more honest than screwing for petty raises in an office or other places of employment. Besides, she'd known many wives who were practicing little more than legalized prostitution-and not even doing a very good job at that. Which, come to think of it, was the reason for the success in the racket she and Dan had worked since getting married.
Generally speaking, the whoring life had been quite pleasant. She'd gotten all the sex she'd needed, the customers or clients hadn't been difficult to handle-aside from a few creeps with all kinds of weird desires and ideas-and if she hadn't met Dan she would probably still be hustling in that manner.
It was strange that she really hadn't lost her respect for Dan. Because she was still hustling her body while being married to him, with his help and permission, even if they were working the profession in a different fashion. The fact that he'd never told her that he loved her, she guessed-she knew-was the main reason she still respected him.
They'd had a good life together while working the racket, though. They got to travel, they didn't have to keep regular hours, they took long vacations when they had enough money to afford it, and it was exciting to have sex with different partners.
Sharon was suddenly snapped out of her reverie by the realization that she was well on her way toward a climax. While thinking, looking back, and trying not to be jealous because of thoughts now and then about Dan being with Betty, she'd been toying with her very sensitive nipples.
She had each smoothly erect tip clasped between a thumb and forefinger, slowly rolling the hardness back and forth, the stimulating friction causing delightful tingling sensations to ripple down along her belly and into the core of her very being.
Should she? But even as she asked herself the question, her gaze going to the quivering blondeness below, Sharon kept right on with the pleasure-giving manipulations, knowing that she'd progressed just a little too far to stop without being left with a nagging discomfort.
She wasn't ashamed of the act she'd started. She was surprised more than anything else. She'd just had a damned good screwing from Dan not so long before, to enable him to keep himself under control with Betty right at first, and she really hadn't been hot when she'd sat down on the couch.
Hunching down a little lower on the cushion, slowly wriggling her smooth ass on and against the silken robe, in tune with her nipple-caressing fingers and thumbs, Sharon remembered the times she'd spasmed by using that comparatively simple method. That had taken-and would take-many minutes, however, and she did want to be dressed and ready to go out for dinner when Dan returned.
Not that she'd mind if he caught her. Hell, he'd get a big bang out of watching her. He might tease her about being a hot-ass fire-cracker, in a kindly way, but he'd understand.
There'd been times, for one reason or another, when he'd jacked himself off. She'd watched, getting a big bang out of doing so, and sometimes it was very enjoyable to do without a partner.
She'd read about some women being able to reach themselves with their mouths. She sure as hell wasn't limber enough for that, and had never observed such an act being performed, but she'd had a male client or customer one time with that contorting ability.
He'd screwed her first, giving her a damn good romp, and then when she'd told him that it was all right with her if he wanted another piece, he'd put on his exhibition. Because he enjoyed being watched, he'd said. He'd had a rather long neck and a very long prick. Getting on the bed on his shoulders and the back of his neck, he'd lowered his legs back over behind his head until his knees were touching the mattress.
She'd gotten closer for a better view. He'd simply opened his mouth and the head of his cock was right there, inside, and then as he'd progressed with his self-loving or whatever at least three or four more inches had been engulfed. It had been quite a sight, really, and he'd finished himself that way.
The fascinating sight had really turned her on. The guy couldn't get his long penis hard again, not even with her very active help, but he'd given her relief with his mouth and tongue. He'd paid her the regular fee, of course, saying that it was a real pleasure to find a whore with the ability or the willingness to climax. The truth, she guessed, because she knew that most women in the profession concentrated like hell on not making it with a John.
Sharon felt the telltale tremors begin within her moist pussy. She slipped her right hand down along her trembling belly and inserted her middle finger into the quivering flesh. She found the stiff and slippery clitoris, slowly stroked the swollen bud-shaped organ, and forgot everything except the blissful pleasures of the moment-the thrilling moments.