My Sexual Odyssey Part V A Real Whore
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My Sexual Odyssey Part V: A Real Whore free porn video
A continuation of the journey described in part 4:
The next morning as I awoke, I realized that in just a few hours I was to re-experience the previous day’s activities. This seemed too much too soon, but I had agreed. Of course I could always cancel, but then if I did so I would wonder how much I’d miss it and whether I would have acclimated to the frequency and intensity. I decided to just forge ahead and so I got dressed and left for work, girly clothes under my street clothes and wig in hand.
I thought to myself, “This is ridiculous.” Still, I went ahead, determined to see it through. It seemed as if I had just left Brad, and here I was, about to see him again, for yet another fuck session. I really was’t sure about this. The morning dragged on, and as I was about to meet Brad, I summoned up my courage and resolved to proceed. Why was I making this sound like an ordeal to be endured rather than an experience to be enjoyed? Maybe because of the ambiguity inherent in the nature of the ‘date’, as well as my ambivalent feelings toward it.
Anyway, as the time for us to meet approached, I was becoming more and more aroused at the thought of being fucked like a cheap whore. Why was this so arousing? Was there something intrinsically exciting about being treated that way? It seemed that there was, but what? I was determined to get to the bottom of it. At any rate, at least I had access to the experiences needed to find out.
Well, no more time to ponder the deeper meanings of all this. I left the office with my wig in a bag, and spied the waiting van. Again the rear door was ajar, and so again I dashed in, donned my wig, and undressed, just in time for Brad to join me.
“Hi sexy!”
“Hi Brad. How are you?”
“Horny as hell. Are you ready to fuck?”
“Well what girl could resist such sweet talk?”
“Do you really need some?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good.”
Saying which, he dropped his pants, and presented an extremely hard erection, which I promptly enveloped with my waiting mouth. Brad proceeded to pump like mad; no pretense at gentleness or affection. Then, just as abruptly, he withdrew, spun me around, pushed my head down, put some lube on his cock, then shoved it into my ass, all seemingly in a single motion. He then rammed as hard and rapidly as a piston, making me feel like a rag doll in the process.
I felt extreme heat from the friction, but in no time he pulled out yet again, flipped me over, then grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs back so my feet almost touched my ears. He re-inserted his still hard cock, and fucked as hard and rapidly as before. I experienced a riot of sensations and emotions: used and degraded; aroused and horny; sore and sensitive; slutty and whorish. I had no idea what to make of it all.
This went on for many minutes. The van was moving with our rhythm, just as in the cliche. After what seemed hours, Brad actually increased the tempo of his thrusts, then shot a load of hot cum into my well-fucked ass.
Once again, we lay there panting, trying to get our breath. It seemed hard to believe that we did so much fucking in so short a period of time. However, the sensation of hot cum running out of my gaping ass and down my legs was convincing evidence that we did a lot.
After it was all over and I regained my equilibrium, I kissed Brad so-long, changed clothes, and exited the truck. The feeling was one of “What happened?” in that there was no time to really savor the experience, talk, recover, or anything else; just fuck and go. While there was certainly something exciting about it all, it was also fundamentally unsatisfying. It also had an air of unreality about it.
I went back to work, ran into the bathroom, and cleaned up as best I could, then returned to work, still reeling over what had happened. Returning to the mundane world of work seemed all the more surreal. I decided right then and there that this was not going to work for me on a day-to-day basis. I resolved to call Brad when I returned home that evening, in order to inform him of my decision.
Later that night I did precisely that, during the course of which I suggested we re-experience the passion of the night we met at the hotel bar for our first encounter. Brad quickly agreed, and we set the date for the coming Friday. I was relieved that he agreed so quickly, given that he seemed to enjoy the weird “dating” we had been experiencing.
As Friday rolled around, I looked forward to our date with eager anticipation. I wore my sexiest little black dress, black hose and black fuck-me pumps. I arrived early, sat at a table near the bar, and was enjoying a drink when Brad called and told me he had to work late and couldn’t make it. I was crushed, but said nothing to that effect. So great, here I was, all dressed up, but with some place to go yet no one to “go” with.
I just sat there and sipped my drink, wondering what to do next, when a nicely dressed businessman cautiously approached and asked if he could buy me a drink. I suppose there aren’t that many opening lines a man can use in a cocktail lounge, and everyone knows it’s just a cover for asking if you can sit and try to pick someone up.
Not having anything else to do, and feeling disappointed at having been stood up, I relented, and invited him to sit down. The predictable exchange ensued, but as he was polite and attractive I was not displeased. He mentioned that he was in town for a business meeting, and would be returning home the following day. He wore no ring, and said nothing to suggest he was married or involved. I wondered why, given that he was obviously successful and handsome. Anyway, he continued to flirt, and I wondered when he was going to make a move.
He touched my hand a couple of times, then my back as I rose to go to the bathroom. I wondered if he knew I was a CD, but when I returned, I asked what kind of women he liked, to which he responded, “Special ladies, like yourself.” So, that answered both questions: did he know? (yes), and why was he single? (he had difficulty finding what he wanted).
I felt relieved and relaxed, and began enjoying his company a bit more, as well as the cocktails he was plying me with. I waited for him to invite me up to his room, as I was very interested, but I didn’t expect the type of invitation I received.
He said, “So, I was wondering, since this is my last night in town, would you be willing to spend a couple hours with me for a couple hundred dollars?”
I heard myself say, “Certainly”, and we got up and moved toward the elevators.
What was I doing? This was nuts! I just agreed to whore myself out! I couldn’t believe it! Nonetheless, I walked with steady steps to the elevator, hanging on his arm, as calmly as an experienced call girl. I
quickly realized it was too late to back down now, at least not without looking silly, so I had to go through with it. But then, why not? After all, I was going to have sex with him anyway, so where’s the harm? Still, the realization that I had crossed a (seemingly) huge line was very clear to me.
As we entered the elevator, my adrenaline began to surge wildly through my veins, and I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I was tempted to chicken out, but at the same time I felt ashamed of myself for feeling so weak, as well as ashamed of myself for what I would be doing if I remained strong.
As the elevator slowed to his floor, the excitement I experienced was almost overwhelming, and I practically peed in my panties. But then, I thought how the idea of prostitution was titillating, arousing, sexy and exciting. There was something irresistibly thrilling about it, precisely because it was forbidden, naughty, and uninhibited. It’s the most extreme form of sexual freedom and excess, and that’s what makes it so hot and alluring.
Anyway, as these thoughts and feelings ran through me, I experienced the greatest sexual turn-on imaginable, accompanied by an emotional rush that had me practically cumming. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for my release, since my companion’s room was only feet away. Was I really going to go through with this? I was!
How did I get here? I surprised myself by not resisting. I couldn't believe I was doing this. "Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?” I thought.
As we entered the room, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a wallet, pulled several bills from its interior, and wordlessly placed them on a table. I let them remain, not wanting to appear avaricious, and we made our way to the bed, whereupon he began to unzip my dress. At this point my lust took over, and I began responding to the sex rather than to the fact that I was whoring myself out to a complete stranger. I was about to act out of some of the dreams I had fantasized about for so long. I was about to be someone's whore. I could hardly contain myself.
My desire to say no was overcome by my need to lose my remaining inhibitions. Go ahead, I thought. Give in. This is your chance to be a whore.
I lay on the bed, wondering what this was going to be like. I was both frightened and excited. I got on my back and obligingly raised my legs, which he placed onhis shoulders. He placed his now swollen cock against my asshole, and I guided him in,pushing gently toaccommodate his member. He filled my asscompletely, and began thrusting, slowly at first, then more quickly, eventually unable to control his lust. My ass became warm, then hot, filling me with uncontrollable desire.I bucked against his thrusts, meeting his passion with lust and fire of my own, and we fucked like two a****ls, neither caring about anything but the satisfaction of our hunger. As I became more comfortable with the
situation I started to truly enjoy it.
He grabbed my ankles, andI pulled him inside of me while he fucked and fucked, not stopping until I began to feel the mounting pressure building tounbearable intensity, finally discharging my orgasm as I moaned in ecstasy.He let me know I was his bitch to do with as he pleased, and it pleased him to fuck me, and so he did. I loved it. Iwas really getting into this whore thing. I was being treated like a slutty little whore, and loving every minute of it. The bed was squeaking and someone was moaning in ecstasy. It was odd to realize that it was me. I couldn't believe how exciting and dangerous this was. The things you do when you are sexually aroused.
When I thought he was never going to cum, he shot a wad of thick, hot, sweet cum, and then another. Blast after blast shot out, until I thought he would never stop, not that I wanted him to. At that point, he poured his hot jism into my waiting ass, and I could feel him fill it with his cum. He gushed like a geyser. Still, blast after blast came, andI felt myself cum again just from the excitement of it all, and gave into the wanton lust with honest, undisguised abandon,and enjoyed the sleazy,opensluttiness of it all.And I felt the by now familiar sensation of hot, sticky wetness fill my bottom.
After he came, I said out loud, “Well, that makes it official. I’m a real whore.” Fortunately, I spoke so softly he didn’t hear; besides, he was a little preoccupied at that point.
I looked like a used whore and loved it. I felt a little dirty and ashamed as I lay there licking his softening cock, but I was still very happy and proud that I had done a good job. It felt so good! The naughtiness of it, the excitement, the fear all gone, and the feeling of my mouth wrapped around his cock was wonderful.
I realized that I could never go back to the "straight" life. I was hooked, and I knew it. I was as hooked as a junkie on d**gs, a true sex addict, and I didn't care. I was shocked by how much I had enjoyed it. I couldn’t believe I missed out on all this for so long.
After a short while, we got up, and I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I looked in the mirror and thought, “Was that really me?” Yes, it was really me. This was happening so fast.
As I got dressed, we engaged in some small talk, and he walked me to the door. I picked up the cash, and he asked if he could call me if he comes to town again. I assured him he could, and gave him my telephone number. With that, I exited the hotel room, and returned to the world of ordinary life, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
I drove the rest of my way home pleased with myself. I just whored myself out and I love it. On my way home I felt odd. I realized that I didn’t even know his name. I was flushed with expended lust,
sexually depleted, yet somewhat excited at the anticipation of possibly doing it again, despite wanting to shower and change immediately. I went home feeling spent, but satisfied.
I entered my apartment, and as I looked in the mirror, I told myself that I was in fact a real whore, a prostitute, and just as you cannot unscramble an egg, although I could stop, I could never undo what I had done: I had turned a trick. I went into the living room and sat down. I realized that I had felt a curious kind of relief.
The sky hadn’t fallen, and the earth didn’t open up. I was still me. The change was really only conceptual, in that I hand’t really altered anything about myself. For one thing, the sex I had with Brad in the truck was more sleazy and sordid than having sex with my first “trick” or client in an upscale hotel; for another, who decided that exchanging sex for money is somehow worse than having a one- night stand for free? Besides, I would have let him fuck me anyway, so what’s the big deal?
I took a long bath, then showered off, realized it was late, and went to bed nude, as always. The next morning, I awoke and thought about the previous evenings activities. No, I had no regrets. In fact, it had been fun.
The next morning as I awoke, I realized that in just a few hours I was to re-experience the previous day’s activities. This seemed too much too soon, but I had agreed. Of course I could always cancel, but then if I did so I would wonder how much I’d miss it and whether I would have acclimated to the frequency and intensity. I decided to just forge ahead and so I got dressed and left for work, girly clothes under my street clothes and wig in hand.
I thought to myself, “This is ridiculous.” Still, I went ahead, determined to see it through. It seemed as if I had just left Brad, and here I was, about to see him again, for yet another fuck session. I really was’t sure about this. The morning dragged on, and as I was about to meet Brad, I summoned up my courage and resolved to proceed. Why was I making this sound like an ordeal to be endured rather than an experience to be enjoyed? Maybe because of the ambiguity inherent in the nature of the ‘date’, as well as my ambivalent feelings toward it.
Anyway, as the time for us to meet approached, I was becoming more and more aroused at the thought of being fucked like a cheap whore. Why was this so arousing? Was there something intrinsically exciting about being treated that way? It seemed that there was, but what? I was determined to get to the bottom of it. At any rate, at least I had access to the experiences needed to find out.
Well, no more time to ponder the deeper meanings of all this. I left the office with my wig in a bag, and spied the waiting van. Again the rear door was ajar, and so again I dashed in, donned my wig, and undressed, just in time for Brad to join me.
“Hi sexy!”
“Hi Brad. How are you?”
“Horny as hell. Are you ready to fuck?”
“Well what girl could resist such sweet talk?”
“Do you really need some?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good.”
Saying which, he dropped his pants, and presented an extremely hard erection, which I promptly enveloped with my waiting mouth. Brad proceeded to pump like mad; no pretense at gentleness or affection. Then, just as abruptly, he withdrew, spun me around, pushed my head down, put some lube on his cock, then shoved it into my ass, all seemingly in a single motion. He then rammed as hard and rapidly as a piston, making me feel like a rag doll in the process.
I felt extreme heat from the friction, but in no time he pulled out yet again, flipped me over, then grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs back so my feet almost touched my ears. He re-inserted his still hard cock, and fucked as hard and rapidly as before. I experienced a riot of sensations and emotions: used and degraded; aroused and horny; sore and sensitive; slutty and whorish. I had no idea what to make of it all.
This went on for many minutes. The van was moving with our rhythm, just as in the cliche. After what seemed hours, Brad actually increased the tempo of his thrusts, then shot a load of hot cum into my well-fucked ass.
Once again, we lay there panting, trying to get our breath. It seemed hard to believe that we did so much fucking in so short a period of time. However, the sensation of hot cum running out of my gaping ass and down my legs was convincing evidence that we did a lot.
After it was all over and I regained my equilibrium, I kissed Brad so-long, changed clothes, and exited the truck. The feeling was one of “What happened?” in that there was no time to really savor the experience, talk, recover, or anything else; just fuck and go. While there was certainly something exciting about it all, it was also fundamentally unsatisfying. It also had an air of unreality about it.
I went back to work, ran into the bathroom, and cleaned up as best I could, then returned to work, still reeling over what had happened. Returning to the mundane world of work seemed all the more surreal. I decided right then and there that this was not going to work for me on a day-to-day basis. I resolved to call Brad when I returned home that evening, in order to inform him of my decision.
Later that night I did precisely that, during the course of which I suggested we re-experience the passion of the night we met at the hotel bar for our first encounter. Brad quickly agreed, and we set the date for the coming Friday. I was relieved that he agreed so quickly, given that he seemed to enjoy the weird “dating” we had been experiencing.
As Friday rolled around, I looked forward to our date with eager anticipation. I wore my sexiest little black dress, black hose and black fuck-me pumps. I arrived early, sat at a table near the bar, and was enjoying a drink when Brad called and told me he had to work late and couldn’t make it. I was crushed, but said nothing to that effect. So great, here I was, all dressed up, but with some place to go yet no one to “go” with.
I just sat there and sipped my drink, wondering what to do next, when a nicely dressed businessman cautiously approached and asked if he could buy me a drink. I suppose there aren’t that many opening lines a man can use in a cocktail lounge, and everyone knows it’s just a cover for asking if you can sit and try to pick someone up.
Not having anything else to do, and feeling disappointed at having been stood up, I relented, and invited him to sit down. The predictable exchange ensued, but as he was polite and attractive I was not displeased. He mentioned that he was in town for a business meeting, and would be returning home the following day. He wore no ring, and said nothing to suggest he was married or involved. I wondered why, given that he was obviously successful and handsome. Anyway, he continued to flirt, and I wondered when he was going to make a move.
He touched my hand a couple of times, then my back as I rose to go to the bathroom. I wondered if he knew I was a CD, but when I returned, I asked what kind of women he liked, to which he responded, “Special ladies, like yourself.” So, that answered both questions: did he know? (yes), and why was he single? (he had difficulty finding what he wanted).
I felt relieved and relaxed, and began enjoying his company a bit more, as well as the cocktails he was plying me with. I waited for him to invite me up to his room, as I was very interested, but I didn’t expect the type of invitation I received.
He said, “So, I was wondering, since this is my last night in town, would you be willing to spend a couple hours with me for a couple hundred dollars?”
I heard myself say, “Certainly”, and we got up and moved toward the elevators.
What was I doing? This was nuts! I just agreed to whore myself out! I couldn’t believe it! Nonetheless, I walked with steady steps to the elevator, hanging on his arm, as calmly as an experienced call girl. I
quickly realized it was too late to back down now, at least not without looking silly, so I had to go through with it. But then, why not? After all, I was going to have sex with him anyway, so where’s the harm? Still, the realization that I had crossed a (seemingly) huge line was very clear to me.
As we entered the elevator, my adrenaline began to surge wildly through my veins, and I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I was tempted to chicken out, but at the same time I felt ashamed of myself for feeling so weak, as well as ashamed of myself for what I would be doing if I remained strong.
As the elevator slowed to his floor, the excitement I experienced was almost overwhelming, and I practically peed in my panties. But then, I thought how the idea of prostitution was titillating, arousing, sexy and exciting. There was something irresistibly thrilling about it, precisely because it was forbidden, naughty, and uninhibited. It’s the most extreme form of sexual freedom and excess, and that’s what makes it so hot and alluring.
Anyway, as these thoughts and feelings ran through me, I experienced the greatest sexual turn-on imaginable, accompanied by an emotional rush that had me practically cumming. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for my release, since my companion’s room was only feet away. Was I really going to go through with this? I was!
How did I get here? I surprised myself by not resisting. I couldn't believe I was doing this. "Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?” I thought.
As we entered the room, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a wallet, pulled several bills from its interior, and wordlessly placed them on a table. I let them remain, not wanting to appear avaricious, and we made our way to the bed, whereupon he began to unzip my dress. At this point my lust took over, and I began responding to the sex rather than to the fact that I was whoring myself out to a complete stranger. I was about to act out of some of the dreams I had fantasized about for so long. I was about to be someone's whore. I could hardly contain myself.
My desire to say no was overcome by my need to lose my remaining inhibitions. Go ahead, I thought. Give in. This is your chance to be a whore.
I lay on the bed, wondering what this was going to be like. I was both frightened and excited. I got on my back and obligingly raised my legs, which he placed onhis shoulders. He placed his now swollen cock against my asshole, and I guided him in,pushing gently toaccommodate his member. He filled my asscompletely, and began thrusting, slowly at first, then more quickly, eventually unable to control his lust. My ass became warm, then hot, filling me with uncontrollable desire.I bucked against his thrusts, meeting his passion with lust and fire of my own, and we fucked like two a****ls, neither caring about anything but the satisfaction of our hunger. As I became more comfortable with the
situation I started to truly enjoy it.
He grabbed my ankles, andI pulled him inside of me while he fucked and fucked, not stopping until I began to feel the mounting pressure building tounbearable intensity, finally discharging my orgasm as I moaned in ecstasy.He let me know I was his bitch to do with as he pleased, and it pleased him to fuck me, and so he did. I loved it. Iwas really getting into this whore thing. I was being treated like a slutty little whore, and loving every minute of it. The bed was squeaking and someone was moaning in ecstasy. It was odd to realize that it was me. I couldn't believe how exciting and dangerous this was. The things you do when you are sexually aroused.
When I thought he was never going to cum, he shot a wad of thick, hot, sweet cum, and then another. Blast after blast shot out, until I thought he would never stop, not that I wanted him to. At that point, he poured his hot jism into my waiting ass, and I could feel him fill it with his cum. He gushed like a geyser. Still, blast after blast came, andI felt myself cum again just from the excitement of it all, and gave into the wanton lust with honest, undisguised abandon,and enjoyed the sleazy,opensluttiness of it all.And I felt the by now familiar sensation of hot, sticky wetness fill my bottom.
After he came, I said out loud, “Well, that makes it official. I’m a real whore.” Fortunately, I spoke so softly he didn’t hear; besides, he was a little preoccupied at that point.
I looked like a used whore and loved it. I felt a little dirty and ashamed as I lay there licking his softening cock, but I was still very happy and proud that I had done a good job. It felt so good! The naughtiness of it, the excitement, the fear all gone, and the feeling of my mouth wrapped around his cock was wonderful.
I realized that I could never go back to the "straight" life. I was hooked, and I knew it. I was as hooked as a junkie on d**gs, a true sex addict, and I didn't care. I was shocked by how much I had enjoyed it. I couldn’t believe I missed out on all this for so long.
After a short while, we got up, and I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I looked in the mirror and thought, “Was that really me?” Yes, it was really me. This was happening so fast.
As I got dressed, we engaged in some small talk, and he walked me to the door. I picked up the cash, and he asked if he could call me if he comes to town again. I assured him he could, and gave him my telephone number. With that, I exited the hotel room, and returned to the world of ordinary life, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
I drove the rest of my way home pleased with myself. I just whored myself out and I love it. On my way home I felt odd. I realized that I didn’t even know his name. I was flushed with expended lust,
sexually depleted, yet somewhat excited at the anticipation of possibly doing it again, despite wanting to shower and change immediately. I went home feeling spent, but satisfied.
I entered my apartment, and as I looked in the mirror, I told myself that I was in fact a real whore, a prostitute, and just as you cannot unscramble an egg, although I could stop, I could never undo what I had done: I had turned a trick. I went into the living room and sat down. I realized that I had felt a curious kind of relief.
The sky hadn’t fallen, and the earth didn’t open up. I was still me. The change was really only conceptual, in that I hand’t really altered anything about myself. For one thing, the sex I had with Brad in the truck was more sleazy and sordid than having sex with my first “trick” or client in an upscale hotel; for another, who decided that exchanging sex for money is somehow worse than having a one- night stand for free? Besides, I would have let him fuck me anyway, so what’s the big deal?
I took a long bath, then showered off, realized it was late, and went to bed nude, as always. The next morning, I awoke and thought about the previous evenings activities. No, I had no regrets. In fact, it had been fun.
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