Prequel - Ch 7

At the Joelsen’s house in Burbank, California, their exquisite blonde sex goddess of a neighbor Emma asked, “Wow, that’s a complicated family! So, your dad Mike is your brother, too, Suzie?”

“Yeah. He got our Mom pregnant with me, then gave me our daughter Kate once I was old enough. We’re having a birthday orgy for her tomorrow, since she finally became legal yesterday. We’ve decided to share the wealth, and quit keeping it in the family.”

“Can I come?” Emma asked.

“Sure! In both ways. Hehehe! Please invite all the sexy people you know.”

LONDON, The Next Evening

I never cheated before and wasn’t sure if I would. I loved my wife Valery, was still in love with her, but she’d rebuffed my advances every night for a month. She’d be a perfect wife, if she were in the mood at least half as often as I was. My conscience and libido fought a mighty battle, as the young chesty redhead approached me.

“Hi, Ken. I’m Jilly. Nice to meet you in person.”

“I can’t do this. I’m actually shaking.” The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I was speaking. I stared at the girl across the scarred wooden table, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I felt sick. Not the kind of sick where you throw up, but the kind where your stomach just turns into a cold, heavy stone. I kept thinking about Valery. My pretty and loyal wife Valery, who was probably folding laundry right now in California, thinking I was at a boring conference in London. I’m twenty-five, I’ve got a VP title, and I’m sitting in a dim pub in Southwark about to pay a teenager for something that makes me feel like a criminal.

The cute young hooker reached across the table and touched my wrist. Her skin was warm. I jumped, almost knocking over my pint.

“Relax, Ken,” she said. Her voice was light, almost airy, but she had this look in her eyes, like she’d seen a thousand versions of me. “You’re not murdering anyone. It’s just a bit of fun.”

“You’re beautiful and I want it so much! But it’s not ‘fun’ when you’re lying to your wife.” I immediately felt like an idiot. I looked down at my expensive shoes. My palms were sweating. I wanted her. God, I wanted her so bad I could feel the ache in my groin pressing against the fabric of my suit trousers, a sharp, demanding heat that made me feel pathetic. I’d spent two hours scrolling through escort ads, staring at the blurred photos, and now she was right here. She looked younger than the photos. Too young? No, sixteen was legal in the UK, and she was seventeen.

“It’s legal here, mostly. The laws are a mess, but the act isn’t some dark secret,” Jilly said, leaning back. She shifted her weight, and the movement pulled her top tight across her chest. I couldn’t stop looking. “And my rates are fair. I’m not trying to bleed you dry, Ken. I just want to make you happy, for fair compensation.”

“How much?” I whispered. I didn’t want to say it out loud. If I said the number, it became real. If it became real, I was a cheater. But the way she was looking at me, like she knew exactly how hard I was for her, made the guilt feel like a secondary problem. I was terrified, but the arousal was winning. It was a raw, pulsing need that drowned out the voice of my conscience.

“For you? Since you’re so stressed? We can negotiate,” she whispered, a small knowing smile playing on her lips. “But you have to decide. Right now. Are we going back to your hotel? Or do you just want to buy me dinner and stare at my chest, before you go?”

“Uh ... hotel. It’s only two blocks.”

‘I think my heart is actually going to stop.’ That was the only thought in my head as the hotel door clicked shut, cutting off the sound of the hallway. The silence in the room was heavy, smelling of stale air conditioning and expensive soap. I didn’t even let her put her bag down. I just wanted the clothes gone. I wanted to see if she looked as good in bed as she did in that pub.

I started pulling at my tie, my fingers shaking so bad I almost choked myself. Jilly didn’t wait. She just reached up and slid the strap of her dress down one shoulder, then the other. It pooled at her feet in a second. She stood there, completely naked, and I just stopped breathing. She was small, but her breasts were heavy, tipped with dark, tight nipples that looked like little berries. Her skin was pale and flawless, and her hips flared out into these plump, rounded cheeks that made my mouth go dry. She looked like a doll, but the way she watched me, with that knowing, bored look, reminded me she was a professional.

I stepped toward her, my breath coming in ragged hitches. I leaned in, my eyes locked on her lips, wanting to taste her, to feel her tongue against mine. But just as I moved to kiss her, she put a small, firm hand on my chest and stepped back. Not far, just enough to create a gap.

“No kissing,” she said. Her voice was flat, business-like. “I don’t do the mouth. Not for clients.”

“What?” I blinked, feeling a surge of frustration that mixed with the heat in my gut. “Why not?”

“Personal boundary. But,” she leaned in, her chest grazing my shirt, “I’ll do nearly anything else. For the right price, obviously.”

I didn’t care about the price. I didn’t care about anything except the fact that she was standing there, naked and perfect. I reached out, my hands trembling, and gripped her breasts. They were so soft, filling my palms, the weight of them surprising me. I squeezed them, watching her eyes flutter, and then I slid my hands down, gripping the plush curve of her buttocks. She let out a small, sharp breath, her body arching into me.

Slowly, she knelt on a pillow. She didn’t say a word, just looked up at me with those wide eyes before her hands went to my belt. She stripped me out of my trousers with a speed that told me she’d done it a hundred times, her movements efficient and clinical. Then she leaned in.

The first touch of her mouth was an electric shock. She didn’t hesitate, taking me in with a wet, sliding heat that made my knees buckle. She was an expert, the way she swirled her tongue, the way she used her throat to pull me deeper. I let out a choked sound, my fingers digging into her curly red hair, pulling her closer. I was losing my mind, the guilt of Valery completely erased by the raw, pulsing sensation of Jilly’s mouth working on me. Everything else, the hotel, the city, the lie, just vanished. There was only the wet sound of her throat and the blinding, white-hot pressure building in my groin.

Suddenly, she pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting us for a second. She looked up at me, her eyes hooded and dark. “You’re close, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice raspy. “Do you want to finish in my mouth, or somewhere else?”

“I ... I don’t know,” I panted, my chest heaving. My brain was barely functioning. “Wait. Do you ... will you do anal? I haven’t done that in a couple years.”

“Yeah, I do,” she interrupted, a smirk playing on her lips. “But that’s an extra fee, Ken. A big one.”

“I don’t care. Whatever it is. Just yes.”

She didn’t waste time. She reached for her bag and pulled out a condom, sliding it onto me with a clinical efficiency that somehow made it even hotter. The latex was tight, trapping the heat. She took a small bottle from her purse and smeared lube between her butt cheeks, then rubbed some on the condom. “Come here, big boy.” She turned around, bracing herself against the edge of the hotel desk, arching her back so her ass was pushed out toward me. She looked over her shoulder, her expression challenging my lust.

I didn’t need a second invitation. I stepped up behind her, the sight of her tight, puckered entrance making my heart hammer. I guided myself in, the initial resistance making me grunt, and then, with a slow, heavy push, I slid inside. It was tighter than anything I’d ever felt, a crushing, searing heat that wrapped around me like a vice.