Monday night

She runs her slender fingers through my fire-red hair and I whisper dirty things in her ear - things that make her nipples jump to attention. She moans at my naughty words. My teeth nip her lobe before I move away. Slowly, I slide down her body, kissing every inch of skin along the way. Her body's responsive quivers urge me on. I feel powerful witnessing how nicely she reacts to my touches.

Of course, I know what she needs ... what she wants. I praise myself for always knowing. As my face reaches her mound, I take a long look at her. It is always exciting to see the pubic hair choice one makes - bare, full bush, neatly trimmed. This lovely chooses to sport a small landing strip of hair, slightly darker than the blonde hair on her head. My fingertips comb through her hair before my lips plant gentle kisses on her lower belly and mound. Her back arches and my fingertips stroke her clit, starting her fire. 

"God, yes! More! Please, more!"

"You mean more of this, baby?" I purr as I increase the intensity of my stroking.

"Yes!" 

I dip my head with my red hair splayed across her mound and my tongue goes to work. 

Flick. Flick. Flick.

"Ahhhh!" she cries out with my licks, her hips rising off the bed. 

I run my hands from behind her knees to her upper thighs, pushing her knees towards her chest. My real torture begins as I softly blow my warm breath on her puffing pussy. Whoooooooo.

"Oh, God!" she squeals, her pussy shivering.

I never get tired of being called that name - God. My fingers, lips, and tongue are powerful indeed ... and heavenly it seems.

My tongue slides down her wet lips to find her puckered tight hole. Just little licks. Gentle licks. Then, I move back up to burrow my tongue inside her tight snatch. 

I insatiably lick every inch of her juicy little cunt. Her thighs close tightly around my head. That is what I have been waiting for. She is losing herself to me. She said she had not been able to cum in years, but I know I can break through whatever barrier she has in her head that impedes her orgasm.

I work on her for an hour before her body finally relinquishes control and she releases a guttural scream, flooding me with her juices. It takes her a little while to recover. Her legs wobble like jello. Her head spins. Her smile that won't leave. I can't quite put into words the satisfaction I feel.

After she walks out the door, I take a long look at myself in the mirror. Hmmmm, red was the perfect choice for tonight. I smile at myself a few more minutes before I pull my wig off and begin my nightly process of reverting to the good girl. 

Tuesday night

I check myself in the mirror one more time, fluffing my curls, wiping away a smidge of red lipstick that wandered outside the lines. Perfect. I lay down on the bed on my side, facing the door, scissoring my legs. He will be here any minute. The all-too-familiar butterflies flutter in my tummy. I allowed myself to start craving this over an hour ago, so I am quite worked up now. 

I hear the swiping of the key card. The door handle turns, doubling my heart rate. He's here. 

"Hi, handsome," I purr as he rounds the corner. 

His eyes focus on my breasts pushed up to new heights in my black, lacy underwire bra. I patiently wait as his eyes drink their fill of my tits. Then, his eyes lower to my black panties.

His hand grabs his crotch, forecasting his desires. I watch as his eyes ravage my body, playing out the night in his head. Finally, his eyes find my face. I am not insulted my face was his last glance. Probably for the best, less personal that way. I am just a pair of tits and a pussy for tonight. Nothing more. 

"I want you," he says. Music to my ears - to be wanted.

"Then come and get me," I purr, not making a move toward him. 

He kicks off his shoes and slides across the bed to me. I rake my long fingernails through his hair, awaiting his first move. Will he kiss me? Grab my breasts? That's part of the excitement - the unknown. He leans in for a kiss.

I keep my eyes open. Always. As soon as our lips meet, his tongue hungrily pushes inside my mouth, chasing my tongue. His hands roughly pull my against him, thrusting his hard cock against my pelvis.  I quickly assess his needs. He doesn't want foreplay; he is eager for a dirty fuck. Always aiming to please, I will give it to him. 

My hands expertly release his pulsing dick from his pants. I love the first sight of a new cock and study his impressive member. His length is average, but oh my, what girth he boasts. My eyes glaze over envisioning how my pussy will strain to stretch around his thick shaft. Yes, I will feel this one. His depth won't matter, as he rubs against my tight walls. 

I watch his face as my hand explores. Trying various techniques and pressures, searching his expressions for the sweet spots. This one likes a tight grasp and a slower speed. His eyes close as I settle into this rhythm.

His thick fingers haphazardly roam inside my panties before ripping them off. Yeah, I go through a lot of panties. 

I roll him over on top of me and guide his thick cock to my opening. I thrust my hips to suck him inside my tight hole. Lifting my legs in the air gives him deeper access, as his fucking begins. We fuck like animals - fuck and fuck and fuck. 

"Cum, baby! I want your cum!"

He grunts as he fills my pussy with his milky spunk. One, two, three juts of his cock and he is empty. 

He hands me the envelope full of money and walks out the door.

Oh, close your gaping mouth. Yes, I am a whore. Other women like to call themselves "escorts", "ladies of the evening", etc, giving a sense of glamour and prestige to what we do. But, I will just say it - I am a whore. 

You probably feel sorry for me, thinking I have to do this for money. Maybe I have children at home to feed. Putting myself through school. Do you picture me scrubbing my crotch in the shower afterward while sobbing, "What have I done?" Well, you are wrong on all accounts. I choose to be a whore because I fucking like it.

The excitement of not knowing who I will fuck on any given night excites me. Will it be a man or a woman? Will he/she have a fetish? If a man, is he a kinky fucker, wanting me to wear a strap-on and peg his ass?  How big is his dick? What will it feel like as it slides inside my holes? What will the woman taste like? How big are her nipples? All these things drive my desire to whore myself. And there are no messy entanglements. We fuck. He/she leaves. I said close your gaping mouth!

I pick up the washcloth and begin scrubbing away the whore. Light brown eyebrows come into view. Red lipstick stains the washcloth as light pink lips remain. Lastly, I unclip the black, curly wig, revealing my dirty blonde, straight hair. Unrecognizable. It is more than a mask on the outside removed and hidden away in my black suitcase. My whore persona goes back into hiding as well. Until next time. I grab my suitcase and head out the door, back to my other life ... the reputable life that good girls are supposed to have.

Later in the evening...

"Hi, honey. You're home early." I say smiling.

He sits down on the couch beside me, saying, "I have news." 

"Oh? Do tell." I sense his excitement. 

"I got a promotion - day-shift supervisor! Finally! Now, we can finally have a normal life. Spend our nights together. Eat together every evening. Maybe start our family. The life we have dreamed about."

I force a smile as my heart sinks, knowing I can no longer have my cake and eat it too. Some part of me wants the cute house with the white picket fence and honorable husband. But, it will never fully satisfy me. I need the whore in my life too. Does anyone understand? I need stability and freedom and up until now, I was able to have them both. Which will win out?