My Life as a Hooker
Copyright© 2025 by Drcock666
Chapter 7A: The Wedding at Willow Lake - Part 1
I arrived late on Friday evening, rolling my small suitcase over the gravel driveway of the old country mansion. The place looked like it had fallen out of a fairytale, wide wraparound porches, ivy climbing the stone walls, and a glimmering lake nestled behind a row of weeping willows. Lanterns lined the path to the entrance, casting a soft, honey-colored glow that made the whole place feel almost dreamlike.
I stepped through the grand doorway, feeling the first stirrings of nerves. Sandra, my friend since college, now twenty-nine, was marrying Ed, a confident, distinguished forty-year-old who seemed to have swept her off her feet the moment they met.
And me? I was alone.
The dress I had chosen felt, suddenly, all wrong. It was a deep ruby-red satin slip, hugging my curves a bit too closely, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
The neckline dipped lower than was probably appropriate for a romantic wedding in an old stone mansion. Most of the other guests, as I would soon notice, wore muted pastels and polite floral prints. I stuck out, too bold, too modern, but there was no turning back now.
My hair was loosely curled, brushing my shoulders, and I had gone heavier on the eyeliner than usual, partly to mask how tired I felt from the long drive, partly to distract from the sudden, hollow worry of coming to this wedding alone.
I found my room, small but lovely, with a view of the lake. The window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that smelled of water lilies and damp stone. From down below, I could hear the faint laughter of guests mingling in the garden, the sound of glasses clinking, and early music drifting through the summer night.
I leaned on the windowsill for a moment, taking it all in. The evening felt heavy with possibility, a soft ache of nostalgia and maybe a little envy, too. Watching Sandra get married was going to stir up a thousand thoughts I wasn’t sure I wanted to face.
But I reminded myself: I was here to celebrate her. To witness her happiness.
I peeled off my dress and tossed it aside. I turned on the shower and stopped to check out myself. For 29, and with a previous pregnancy behind me, I still had a tiny waist and large, full breasts, my belly muscles were tight and well-defined, with no signs of the pervious pregnancy When I moved my legs, I could see the pattern of my quads and glutes, My pussy was neatly trimmed with my pussy lips hanging down sexually. I liked my body naked; I wished it were socially acceptable to walk around nude, or at least topless.
I felt so hidden all the time, I had a nice body, and no one could see it under the clothes I had to wear to work, and I had a dirty mind, and a nasty sidekick of having men pay to fuck me, something no-one at work knew. It wasn’t even okay to make sex jokes in the office, and I was horny as hell, both at the office and now.
A fact that didn’t improve as I watched a kid, well, maybe 15 or 16, stand in his room, looking down at some girls at the pool. He was naked and touching his hard cock. As if on queue, he stopped using his finger to rub himself and gripped his cock in his fist and began the slow pumping it.
I instantly wiggled my hand to my bare pussy while I enjoyed the show the kid was putting on.
He began using his hand in earnest on his erect cock. Up and down. Up and down, he stroked his cock. I rubbed myself while I watched the performance that unbeknownst boy was putting on just for me.
My pussy was on the verge of cumming several times while I watched the boy’s hand rubbing his erection, and, then, with a grunt his prick erupted sending his cum high into the air. I wish he were shooting his nasty stuff into my mouth.
“Swallow my fuckin’ cum whore!” I imagined him saying.
Watching him shoot his young sperm, made me rub my pussy even harder until I orgasmed. Then the boy left, I sighed, stepped into the shower, let the steaming water run through my hair and pour over my face. I washed my hair, still very aroused, couldn’t wait for a cock to fuck me silly.
The slippery soap bubbles ran down my body, trailing white lather from my shoulders to my breasts and down to my cunt. I grabbed the bath pouf and shower gel and slowly scrubbed away the day, taking a few minutes longer than I needed to on my nipples, watching them turn hard and long under the rough bath pouf. Then, I picked up my razor and removed the day’s stubble.
I moved it carefully over my cunt, taking care to keep everything smooth and soft.
I put the razor down, ran my hands over my body. I was smooth and soft all over. I rubbed my hand over my pussy, enjoying the smooth feel of the freshly shaved skin there. I closed my eyes and imagined it was the boy’s hand, and that I was standing naked in the shower with him, and the idea aroused me so much that I felt my cunt stretching out and opening up.
I grabbed my pussy harder with my left hand and put my right hand on my left breast, pinching the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, stretching it out and releasing it back until it lengthened and hardened under my touch.
I moved my hand to the other nipple, making soft circles around the big, pink areola while I cupped my left hand over my pussy lips and pressed against them, rubbing my clit from the outside.
My nipples were so hard now, I wished the boy was there to suck on them, and I imagined seeing his jaw working as he sucked on my tits, his hand on my pussy, enjoying the feel of my hot, soft skin. I knew the boy wouldn’t be patient, so I slid two fingers between my labia, and was rewarded with the silky-smooth skin of my clit and the inner lips.
I moaned as I slid my fingers around, up and down, teasing myself. My slick skin felt so good under my fingers. I pinched my nipples harder as I began to rub my clit with two fingers. The steaming shower water rushed down my body and pussy; the warmth and the movement of water added to my arousal.
I took my clit between my thumb and forefinger and rolled it between them, base to tip, trapping that hard little pleasure bud and stimulating every nerve ending in it as I rolled, up and down, up and down.
“Oh, oh, oh,” I cried out. This was my favorite technique, guaranteed to get me off in about four seconds. I came pretty quickly the first time, imagining the boy’s young cock in my drenched pussy, and then slid two fingers of my right hand inside to feel my pussy contracting over and over again. I imagined the boy’s hand inside of me, and wiggled his fingers around, stretching my cunt out and feeling the continuing pulsing of my vaginal walls. My juices flowed over my hands and washed away in the shower water.
I stopped for a moment and disconnected the shower wand from its stand on the wall so that I could get comfortable reclining in the tub. I turned the water as hot as I could stand it, and pulled the drain closed so the tub began to fill.
Now that I was in a more comfortable position, I could get my fingers further inside of me. I liked how tight and wet I was after coming, and I wondered how the boy would like that, with those quivering walls contracting over and over again on his cock.
I imagined his long and fat young teen-cock. It was so straight when it was fully erect. I imagined take it in my mouth and suck on it, finding every ridge and vein with my tongue. I’d love to lick his balls, I imagined his cock taste like salt and smell like a young man.
“Oooh,” I began to moan again. I squirmed in the tub, my eyes firmly closed, imagining the boy’s hard, young body pressed against mine. If he were with me, I’d suck that cock with all the energy I had, savoring the taste like the world’s best candy. Nothing turned me on more than sucking a man’s, well in this case, a boy’s dick, feeling him get harder in my mouth, hearing him moan.
But in the absence of a man, my hand was doing a pretty good job. I took the shower-head, set it on the “massage” setting, and directed it right over my clit with my left hand, so that the hot water throbbed onto me.
Then with my right hand, I curled my fingers upward and stroked, finding the beautiful spongy area on the top wall that I loved so much. I moved slowly at first, then harder and faster. I slid in four finger in so that my pussy was stretched tight.
“Oh, my God,” I cried out. “I’m going to come! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I was imagining the boy inside me, and he was banging me hard and fast.
“Fuck me, kid, fuck me hard! Ohohohoh, Fuck the shit out of me!”
I worked my fingers in and out of my pussy so fast, I could hear the wet sound “slap, slap, slap,” of my palm on my cunt and hear the noise as the water splashed around my pussy.
“Ah, Ah, Ah!” I came again and felt my cunt contract tight around my fingers. But I wasn’t done yet; I knew there would be more if I just kept going. Without giving myself a break, I kept on fucking myself, and dropped the shower-head so I could rub my clit with my other hand.
I arched my back, writhed and contorted, and finally came again amid a series of full-body spasms and shrieking. Pussy juice squirted out of my cunt like a shower, and the longer I rubbed, the more it flowed, spewing above the water level and clouding the tub. I rubbed as long as I could stand it, until moving my fingers at all became exquisite torture. If the boy were there, I imagined he would keep on fucking me anyway, and I would finally see what lay on the other side of that intense orgasm, but for now, I just lay on my back in the tub, glad that I didn’t have to put any words together or do anything that required thinking for the next ten minutes.
Once my pussy stopped convulsing, which took about 5 minutes, I drained the water and rinsed myself off.
For the rehearsal dinner, I changed into a pale rose midi dress with a soft, draping neckline that skimmed over my curves without clinging too tightly.
The fabric was light and floated away from my hips, balancing out my full bust. I chose a wrap-style bodice, which gave me support while still looking graceful, a style that flattered my shape and felt classy enough for the dinner.
The gentle floral pattern softened the look, and the skirt fell to mid-calf, swaying when I walked. I pinned my hair half up, letting the rest spill over my shoulders to feel a bit more at ease. Simple gold sandals and a delicate pendant finished the outfit.
Even with my large breasts, I felt comfortable, confident, and I even felt that I I belonged among the pastel elegance of the other guests. Except for the fact that I was a hooker of course.
The dining room felt like something out of a dream, and I finally understood just how much Sandra’s new husband’s family actually was worth.
The room was set in an old wing of the mansion, with high ceilings and enormous windows that framed the last glimmers of sunset over the lake.
Long linen curtains, ivory with a faint floral pattern, moved gently in the breeze whenever someone passed by.
The walls were covered in soft, pale-green wallpaper with tiny vines winding through it, and a massive stone fireplace stood at one end, its mantel decorated with white roses and little glass lanterns that flickered with candlelight.
A single long wooden table ran nearly the length of the room, dressed with a white lace tablecloth and scattered with wildflower centerpieces in mismatched crystal vases. Above the table hung a sparkling antique chandelier, its prisms catching the light and sending delicate rainbows dancing along the walls.
The chairs were painted an old, graceful white, with plush cushions tied on with ribbons. Each place setting had vintage china, its pattern worn from decades of use, and monogrammed linen napkins folded neatly on top.
There was a gentle hum of conversation as guests mingled, greeted each other, and picked up on lost time. Laughter mixed with the scent of roasted herbs drifted in from the kitchen, but all I could think about was trying to find out which of these men’s cock was gonna fill me up tonight. What about the boy? I thought to myself and looked for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
Outside, you could see fireflies beginning to spark in the dusk, as if nature itself was helping to celebrate.
It was the kind of room that felt at once grand and intimate, as if it had been waiting its whole life for this one, beautiful night.
The groom’s father, Robert, looked every bit the dignified patriarch. He seemed to be in his mid-sixties, tall, with broad shoulders that still held their shape, and a calm, steady way of carrying himself that somehow put me at ease.
His hair was thick, streaked through with silver, and his steel-blue eyes were both kind and sharp, taking in every detail around him.
His face was chiseled, with a rugged handsomeness softened by fine lines around his eyes and mouth, lines that spoke of laughter, worry, and a full life. A close-shaven beard, mostly silver with a little darker gray, gave him a distinguished, classic look.
He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit, just a bit more formal than most of the other guests, with a pale blue shirt that made his blue eyes stand out even more. When he spoke, his voice was low and warm, steady, with that calm cadence of someone who genuinely liked to listen as much as to talk.
My pussy tingled, the nerves dancing with excitement, I’d let him fuck the shit out of me, I thought.
When I sat down next to him, he greeted me with a gentle, curious smile, and I caught the faint trace of his cologne, subtle, clean, expensive, and it made an unexpectedly nice impression.
All through dinner, he had this quiet confidence about him that felt protective instead of intimidating, and the way he treated me, with a kind of old-fashioned courtesy, made me feel instantly comfortable, even though I was alone in a room full of couples.
At first, the conversation was polite, warm, the way it usually is at weddings. Robert asked how I knew Sandra, and I told him we’d been friends since college. He nodded thoughtfully, listening closely, that soft smile never leaving his face.
But, I found myself imagining his mouth roughly against mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth. Pushing his tongue in and out of my mouth while his hips pushed against mine in a similar rhythm. He grabbed my knees and forced them apart, wedging his torso in between my thighs. I could feel some of the coarse hairs around his belly button tickling my clit. With my legs splayed, his skin pressed against my pussy. I was still wet from the orgasm I had in the tub, and I knew he could feel it. I pushed and thumped him with my fists, but he ignored my struggles and grabbed my breasts.
He wasn’t any gentler with them than he had been with my mouth.
He squeezed and kneaded them, and to my shame, my nipples grew hard.
He twisted them between his fingers, and I gave an involuntary moan.
He began sucking them each in turn into his mouth, occasionally blowing across them first. The warmth of his mouth felt so good, I soon forgot to struggle. He would cruelly graze my nipple with his tongue, then gently swirl his tongue across it. The sensations he produced were so pleasurable that I was moaning and tugging at his hair to encourage him, and I was instinctively thrusting my hips against him. He paused and looked triumphantly at me, and I realized what I was doing.
“You look lovely tonight, by the way,” he said after a moment of silence, a bit more personal than I’d expected, and it made me flush slightly.
“Thank you,” I laughed, glancing down at my dress. “I was worried it was too much.”
“Not at all,” he said, his voice reassuring and a little conspiratorial.
“You brighten the whole table.”
He grabbed my hips, thrust his cock deep into my cunt. I don’t know how to describe the sensation. He seemed to fill and stretch me. I could feel him throbbing deep inside me, and it seemed to echo the tremors still shaking me. He began to relentlessly thrust into me, seeming to go deeper each time.
We talked about the couple, how Ed and Sandra had met, and how happy Ed had been lately. Robert shared stories of Ed as a boy, a few humorous tales that made me laugh, and his eyes lit up seeing me react.
The servers poured more wine, and as the glasses emptied and refilled, Robert’s words began to grow more relaxed, edged with gentle flirtation.
I could feel another orgasm beginning as he fucked me harder and harder. Then I came, my back arching off the mattress. I was dimly aware that he was coming to, pumping deep inside me.
He collapsed on top of me, both our bodies trembling and covered in sweat.
God, my pussy was leaking bad.
“You know,” he said, leaning in just a little, “I think Sandra is lucky to have friends like you around. Someone who clearly cares.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” I replied, touched and hoped that he would have the courage to move to second base soon.
He paused, then went on in a lower, more intimate tone. “It’s been ... a long time since I’ve met someone who makes conversation feel so easy. Two years, really.”
I knew what he meant; Sandra had told me Ed’s mother had passed away two years ago.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Robert nodded, a shadow in his eyes, but it cleared quickly.
“Thank you. Life goes on, I suppose. Nights like this help. And ... sitting next to a beautiful woman doesn’t hurt, either, but...”
I laughed again, slightly flattered and wondering if I had to take things to the next level.
There was something old-fashioned about his charm, something safe and warm, even if it was tinged with a bit of lonely longing.
He asked about my life, my work, my hobbies, and so on. Each answer seemed to draw him in closer, as though he genuinely seemed interested in my responses.
By dessert, I realized we’d been talking for nearly two hours, barely noticing anyone else around us. When the plates were cleared, Robert touched my wrist lightly as if to steady me, the contact gentle but meaningful.
“Thank you,” he said, meeting my eyes, “for making this evening a lot less lonely than I expected.”
I smiled, feeling a soft ache in my chest. I was alone at this wedding, but somehow, so was he. And in that moment, it felt like we’d found a quiet connection neither of us had been expecting.
As the conversation stretched on, the candles on the long table burned lower, and the clinking of dishes faded into a background hum. Robert leaned in a bit closer, telling me about a funny memory of Ed as a teenager.
Then, as he was making a point, his hand moved, almost absentmindedly, resting lightly on my thigh beneath the table.
A jolt of joy shot through me, and I jumped, shifting in my chair.
He pulled his hand back instantly, eyes widening in apology.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
My cheeks flushed hot. I tried to smile, recovering from the shock. “It’s okay, you just surprised me.”
His face softened with relief. “I shouldn’t have assumed...” His apology was rudely interrupted by my hand sliding down, grabbing his prick.
“Oh ... you’re so hard!” I whispered.
“Hell yes, I’m hard! Didn’t you expect it?”
“Mmmmm,” was all I could say
“Oooooh, God, Sarah, play with my cock,” he moaned, his hands coming up to my breasts. He rolled my marble-hard nipples through the light fabric.
“Yes, I expected it,” I said and started to stroke his cock.
His cock was completely hard and I wanted it. The thought of having his cock deep inside my cunt, ass or mouth lashed through my mind.
I think that he realized that he was touching my breasts in public, since he quickly withdrew it, and instead, lifted my dress above my ass and slid in one hand.
He let his fingers glide lightly over my ass, his finger tips playing lightly in the crevice.
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