Night Service
Copyright© 2026 by Guisamo
Chapter 2
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Hi, I'm Selena, and I want to tell you about another one of my adventures: My husband, Brian, suddenly found himself out of work one day. The company he worked for made some downsizing, and after paying him severance, he found himself with some money in the bank… but at 49 years old and unemployed. So he decided to buy a taxi license. We're from Valencia, and the port always provided work with the passengers disembarking… but when the sixth fleet arrived, the flow of taxis with the Americans wa
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including True Story Interracial Black Male White Male White Female Double Penetration Masturbation Oral Sex
The following days were a mixture of exhaustion and ecstasy. Every night, at six o’clock sharp, when Brian left to start his shift, I prepared for my “special clients.” I no longer needed to wait at the port; I simply stayed home and waited for the call or the knock on the door.
The first night after my encounter with Johnny and Roberto, the doorbell rang around nine. It was two new marines, one white and one Latino, both with that same hungry look I had learned to recognize. I collected the €200 upfront, as Johnny had instructed me, and led them straight to the bedroom.
“Johnny told us you were special,” the white marine said as he unbuttoned my blouse. “He said you could handle anything.”
I smiled as the Latino knelt before me, lifting my skirt. “Johnny exaggerates a bit,” I lied, knowing full well that he didn’t.
That night I discovered something new about myself: I didn’t just enjoy sex, I enjoyed power. They were the ones paying me, but I was the one controlling the pleasure. I could make them moan, I could make them beg, I could decide when and how they came.
The next morning, while I was showering, Brian came into the bathroom, yawning.
“Tired?” he asked, clueless.
“A little,” I replied, as the hot water washed away the traces of semen that still clung to my hair. “But money helps, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, money helps.”
The second night there were three marines instead of two. They said Johnny had told them how good I was and they wanted to see for themselves. They took me almost until dawn, testing each of my holes again and again.
When they finally left, I lay in bed, feeling used but incredibly alive. My body ached, but it was a good kind of ache, a reminder that I was alive, desired, and above all, making money.
On Wednesday, Johnny and Roberto returned. This time there was no pretense of romance or soft jazz. They came in, threw me to the floor, and fucked me right there in the living room.
“You’ve been doing good business, whore,” Johnny whispered in my ear as Roberto penetrated me from behind. “How about we raise the price? We could get €300 for every pair we send.”