This time of year, the early morning sunlight streams through my bedroom window, and unfortunately, I forgot to close the heavy drapes before I went to bed. As I walked toward the window to block the rays of sun that awoke me, I heard a car door close outside. I got to the window just in time to see Barry's sedan backing out of the driveway and speeding down the street. What the fuck was he doing here at this time of day on a Monday morning. I slipped on a robe and walked downstairs to investigate. Nothing seemed out of place in the foyer, and everything was as I'd left it the night before in the kitchen.

As I opened the front door, I discovered what Barry had come by for; under the brass door knocker, there was a poster-size sign with the hand-written words "WHORE HOUSE." I was stunned and quickly lifted the knocker, removed the poster, stepped back inside, and closed the door with a resounding thud.

My mind raced. How did Barry discover what I've become, and more importantly, how would that knowledge affect the ongoing negotiations to finalize our divorce? I looked again at the poster, studying the handwriting. Barry has a unique way of printing, and the words on the sign match his style. He had clearly written the words and delivered the message, but for what end, I asked myself.

I thought about calling his cell but decided to talk to Laura first since she had something we needed to discuss face-to-face, and now I had something I needed to show her. I folded the poster in half, then in half again, and slid it into my purse. So much for sleeping in; I was wide awake and made a pot of coffee. In hindsight, it was a stroke of luck that I left the drapes open last night. Had I closed them, the sunlight wouldn't have woken me, and that big poster might have hung on my front door for who knows how long.

With a mug of hot java in hand, I walked to the sliding door to my patio, had my hand on the handle, and was about to open the door when I noticed my neighbor Chuck standing in his backyard. Rather than deal with him first thing this morning, I turned around and walked back to the kitchen. I'd have a ninety-minute wait before I could call Laura at 9:00 A.M.

I hoped she could see me later this morning, so I filled my mug a second time and headed upstairs for a quick shower. The warm shower water, while soothing to my body, did nothing to relieve the anxiety resulting from the events of earlier this morning. I curled my hair and applied modest make-up, then dressed in a classy gray pantsuit and a light blue satin blouse. My gray pumps matched the color of my suit exactly.

It was 8:55 A.M. when I descended the stairs, opening the front door to make sure Barry hadn't returned to replace his placard. Laura's office number rang twice before she answered, "Good morning, Laura speaking."

"Good morning, it's Angel," I answered.

"Angel, I'm glad to hear from you; we need to meet as soon as possible," Laura replied.

"Yes, we do," I quickly answered.

Her voice reflected some concern as she asked, "Can you be here by ten?"

I knew something had happened and was pretty sure it had to do with the placard Barry had hung on my front door, so I replied, "I'm already dressed, so yes, I can be there in an hour."

"Good, I'll see you then," Laura answered before hanging up her phone.

I slipped my cell into my purse and grabbed my car keys. The drive to Laura's office normally takes half an hour, but with heavy traffic, it stretched to nearly forty-five minutes. Her office door was locked, so I lightly knocked, knowing she was inside. A moment later, Laura unlocked the door and opened it, extending her delicate hand toward me. I took her hand in mine and gave it a friendly shake as Laura said, "My assistant hasn't arrived yet this morning, so let me lock the door again." She sidestepped me and turned the deadbolt.

"Let's talk," Laura said as she waved me toward her private office.

I sat down opposite her desk as she slipped into her chair. I would have expected some light conversation, especially since we had a sexual encounter recently, but this morning, Laura was strictly business.

"Margaret, we have a major problem," Laura began. While not totally surprising, her use of my actual name didn't go unnoticed.

I just smiled weakly at her, knowing she was about to continue.

"I've received a call from your husband's attorney," Laura said

"And?" I answered.

She paused momentarily before continuing, "They've found out about your occupation.

"Did he say how they found out?" I asked.

"No, but I'm certain a firm as large as theirs has several private investigators who look into people's lives," Laura suggested.

"I want to show you something," I said as I opened my purse and pulled the folded placard Barry had written.

After handing it to Laura, I sat back while she unfolded it, then said, "Where did this come from?"

"Barry hung it on my front door this morning," I answered.

Laura looked again at the words and asked, "How do you know it was Barry?"

"Does it matter?" I questioned

"Yes, we could threaten a trespass complaint if you can prove he was on your property," Laura suggested.

"Well I watched his car back out of my driveway early this morning, and I know his printing well enough to confirm he wrote those words. He's written me many notes with the same style," I replied.

Laura smiled and said, "I'll keep this; we may want to spring it on them down the road." She folded the poster and slipped it into my file.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked, knowing she had more information for me.

She looked at her notes and began, "I received a call from his attorney last Friday afternoon; he told me that they had discovered that you've taken a job with Elegant Escorts and wanted to know how you'd explain in a deposition that you've become a common whore."

"He actually said that?" I asked.

"Yes, and he also mentioned that they would want to depose Franklin Marshall; who is he?" Laura asked.

"He owns Elegant Escorts," I answered.

"If that happened, would your position be in jeopardy?" Laura asked.

I thought for a moment, then answered, "It could be."

Laura made a note on her legal pad and then looked up at me. Her expression was concerned as she said, "They have the upper hand."

I already knew that and asked, "So what does that son of a bitch want?"

She glanced at her notes again and said, "He wants the house, all the furnishings, and your car."

"And what do I get?" I asked.

"Your personal belongings, fifteen thousand dollars, and his signature on the final divorce papers," Laura said, sounding a little defeated.

I sat back and thought about how much value I'd be giving up; the house and furnishings had to be worth close to a half million, and my Benz, even on the used market, has to sell in the twenty-five to thirty thousand range. I'd also give up any chance of receiving half of our assets and any alimony the court awarded. In addition, I'd have the cost of finding a new place and paying off my attorney fees. I knew absolutely that I didn't want Daddy to get involved, and I'd already stashed enough cash away to handle the expense of a new home; depending on Laura's fees, I could either pay on time or ask Daddy for a loan.

"Make it happen, Laura," I finally said, knowing I needed this ugly chapter in my life over with.

"Okay, I'm going to ask for six weeks to give you time to find a new place," Laura suggested.

I smiled and replied, "That's fine, but I want a signed copy of the final divorce decree delivered to your office before I start looking. Also, please sign off on the deed and the title to my Benz."

"That'll work," Laura said as she noted my demands on her legal pad.

I stood up and stepped toward her, extending my hand. As we shook hands, I said, "Somehow, I knew that prick would get his way."

She just smiled. I had given him everything he needed to rake me over the coals, but I was confident I'd be able to recover and move on.

"Call me when it's a done deal," I said just before leaving her office.

It's funny how your perspective changes; I found myself taking notice of real estate signs on the drive home. While exciting, looking for a new place would undoubtedly cut into my time for appointments Daddy might want me to handle.

As I pulled into the driveway, I took the time to study my, or perhaps I should say Barry's, house. Since I kicked his ass out, the flower beds had become a bit overgrown, and the lawn, while neatly cut, seemed to lack the attention of feeding and other treatments that made it look lush. I thought to myself, maybe this is a good thing; I would have the opportunity to get a place that had less maintenance, and to be honest, a smaller home seemed to be a better fit.

I logged onto my email server and sent Daddy an email letting him know I'd be moving to a new home; I didn't go into all the details, figuring he didn't need to know I'd been threatened with having him get involved in my messy divorce. After sending the email, I decided to look at local real estate listings, first searching for two-bedroom homes. My search mainly returned urban row homes that didn't interest me, as well as condominiums.

My lifestyle certainly fits living in a condo. There'd be no outside maintenance, and since I don't allow clients to visit my home, the second bedroom could serve as a kind of office. I decided to concentrate my efforts on finding a condo. Most were quite generic, with boring finishes and kitchens that didn't hold a candle to my current kitchen, but I was looking for a place to hang my hat, so to speak, not a place to entertain friends and family.

The new email tone interrupted my search, which surprisingly was from Daddy, and read, "Angel, what brought this on? I know you love the house you're living in, and I feel fairly confident your income can support the cost of the home. Please feel free to call me if you need to talk about anything, Daddy."

Daddy rarely offered to speak directly on the phone with one of his employees, which gave me the impression that he had some concerns about my email message. I hadn't stored his number on my phone, so I fumbled through several handwritten notes to find it. I dialed his number, and he answered almost instantly, "Angel, what's up?"

I explained the entire situation to him from beginning to end and told him that rather than risk putting the company and him at risk of involvement in my personal matters; I felt it best to acquiesce to Barry's demands.

"That's why I'm in the market for different living accommodations," I said.

"I thank you for your concern, Angel, but we could have fought him. Many of the partners in his firm are clients as well as the managing partner. I could have made one phone call, and he would have been forced to back off," Daddy explained.

I replied, "I appreciate that, but I've thought about this for a while, and to be honest, I really don't need a four-bedroom place, and the maintenance on that big a house isn't something I care to do myself or pay to have done."

"Have you contacted a realtor?" Daddy asked.

"Not yet; I only decided to let Barry take the house this morning," I answered.

"I will connect you with a young friend of mine who is a real tough negotiator. He'll get you the best price on whatever you decide on," Daddy suggested.

"That would be great; I don't know any realtors," I replied.

Daddy answered, "Expect a call from Rhys in the next day or two."

"Thanks, I will," I answered.

Daddy paused momentarily, then suggested, "I'm going to hold off on any appointments for you until you let me know."

"That'd be great; thanks so much for helping me and caring so much," I said.

I felt good knowing that Daddy would be willing to do anything beyond telling me to take care of all this, so I could return to making money for him. I should have asked if he knew of any car salesmen since I would soon be turning the title and keys to my Benz over to Barry. I wondered how long it would be before his little slut Connie would be cruising around town in my car.

Sitting in the kitchen, I thought about all the details of moving to another home. I'd have to pack all my clothes and arrange for a mover to haul my stuff to that home. Since it was only a little past 2:00 PM, I ran out and got some supplies. An hour later, I left a local U-Haul store with a half dozen wardrobe boxes and two dozen medium boxes. I spent the remainder of the afternoon packing clothing I knew I wouldn't need before moving.

As I had a light dinner, I thought about a new car; I hated giving up my cute little Mercedes and knew that getting another would be out of the question until my nest egg grew considerably. I'd have to settle on something less expensive and, along with that, less flashy.

I turned in early, knowing that Tuesday would be another busy day, but I couldn't fall asleep because of all the things on my mind. I finally gave in and took a mild sleeping pill to settle my mind and let me get some much-needed rest.

I woke up feeling a bit groggy, the effects of the sleeping pill and a restless night of sleep. I slipped on my favorite fluffy bathrobe and headed downstairs for some java. Once the coffee maker had brewed enough to fill my mug I poured myself a much-needed mug of coffee and decided to head out back and enjoy the fresh air and morning sunlight.

Once I'd settled on one of the chaise lounges, my elderly neighbor Chuck peered over the fence and said, "Morning Margaret."

Oh, shit, I thought; I wasn't in the mood to deal with him first thing today, but being the friendly neighbor, I replied, "Morning, Chuck."

"Having your morning coffee?" He asked the silly question.

"Uh-huh," I replied.

He began walking toward the gate that led to his front yard and, as he opened it, said, "Have a cup for a friendly neighbor?"

What a lecherous old fuck I thought; he's going to just invite himself so he can stare at my tits. As he approached, I waved my hand toward the house and said, "Help yourself."

A few minutes later, he pulled up a chair and sat beside me. "Where's the little woman this morning?" I asked.

"Visiting her sister," he answered.

I hadn't bothered to close my robe completely, and as he answered, his eyes dropped to my succulent cleavage.

"Really, Chuck," I commented, letting him know I caught him staring at my tits.

His eyes returned to mine as he asked, "Didn't see you this weekend. Were you out of town again?"

I thought about giving him some of the juicy details of my weekend fucking and sucking Ken and his son but decided not to encourage him and just replied, "Yes."

His eyes again moved down to enjoy the view of my tits, and I scolded him, saying, "What makes you think you can just come over here and stare at my tits like that?"

He didn't look up as he replied, "Well, we did have a thing."

His remark enraged me, and I snapped back, "You call having me suck your cock a thing!" As I spoke the word thing, I raised my hands and formed quotation marks with my fingers.

He continued staring at my chest, which further angered me, and as I spoke, I ran one hand down the front of my robe and exposed everything he wanted to stare at as I said, "Well, get a real good look, Chuck, cause it'll most likely be the last time you get to see this sexy body."

His eyes grew to the size of saucers as I spread my legs, giving him a perfect view of my cunt.

"Margaret..." he began to say, but I interrupted him, saying, "You had your slimy, old cock sucked by the best cocksucker on the planet, and you want to call it a thing."

He was dumbfounded but continued staring at my naked body.

"That's it, Chuckie. Get a really good look because, in a few weeks, you'll have to deal with my ex-husband because he's taking the house from me," I said.

"You're moving?" he asked the obvious question.

"That's right, but maybe after a little time, you'll be able to get his slut girlfriend Connie to suck your cock," I remarked.

I stood up and flaunted my big soft tits in his face and said, "Finish your coffee, then get the fuck back on your side of the fence."

I closed my robe and walked inside the house, thinking at least my clients don't want their cocks sucked for free.

I needed to get out of the house; everything about it made me angry this morning, so I decided to get dressed and do a little car shopping.

I put on a pair of jeans, a loose-fitting sweater, and flat sandals. As I backed the Benz out of the garage, I thought maybe I should beat the hell out of this car so that when Barry takes it from me, he'll have a hefty repair bill to pay.

I headed across town to what's called the Auto Mile, a stretch where most of the new car dealerships are located. I lied to most of the salespeople who approached me, telling them I was shopping to buy my daughter a nice used car. I wasn't ready to buy just yet, but I wanted to get a feel for the cost I'd be looking at. Most of the cars I was shown were a model year or two older and had what I was told was low mileage. All of them carried a price tag that, in my opinion, was way too high.

After a couple of hours of dealing with car salespeople, I decided to concentrate on some of the used car lots on the fringe of the Auto Mile. I pulled into a lot that had a small selection of sporty-looking models. It was called Rusty's Used Cars. A lone salesman appeared from the shed-sized office and approached me wearing a wide smile. "I'm Phil, and you are?" he asked as he extended his hand.

Phil appeared in his mid-fifties, a handsome man with a deep tan. His salt and pepper hair, while wavy, wasn't overly long. He did have a bit of a beer belly, which I'm certain resulted from too many days sitting in his office. He was dressed in tailored jeans and a light blue, long-sleeved dress shirt which he had rolled the sleeves up to just below his elbow.

I accepted his handshake as I said, "I'm Angel."

His smile reappeared as he replied, "Yes, you are," which clearly indicated that he found me attractive.

"I'll take that as a compliment," I replied, carefully watching his eyes for a reaction. I didn't find his comment about me being an angel offensive.

Phil turned his attention to my Benz, saying, "Can I assume you're not looking to trade in this sweet little number?"

I decided to be honest with this rather sexy guy and said, "Oh no, my soon-to-be ex-husband is taking it in the divorce settlement."

"He must be brain-dead divorcing such an attractive lady like you, Angel," he answered.

I just smiled at his remark that I was attractive.

"So, you need to get into a new ride; how soon are you losing the Benz?" Phil asked.

I moved closer to him as I answered, "Hopefully, within a month."

"Why don't we take a walk and see if anything I have strikes your fancy," Phil suggested.

"I'd like that," I answered as we started walking along the row of cars he had to offer.

Phil had about a dozen cars for sale, and as we looked them over, he gave me all the details of each model, including his best price. I didn't see anything I'd be interested in, but his prices seemed very reasonable.

As we returned to my car, I said, "Nothing strikes my fancy, but I can stop by sometime next week to see if you have anything new."

I figured he'd just let me drive off, but the salesman in him kicked in as he said, "You know, Angel, I go to the auction every Friday. Why don't we go sit down, and you can tell me exactly what you'd like in a quality used car? I can keep an eye open for something you might like. There'd be no commitment on your part to buy something that I purchase at the auction and bring back to my lot."

I was warming up to his friendly and helpful manner and figured, what the hell, it doesn't hurt to have a car dealer look for what I'd like. "You'd do that for me?" I asked.

"Happy too," Phil instantly answered.

I smiled at him and placed one hand on his forearm just below the fold of his shirt sleeve.

"Why don't we have a seat in my office," he suggested, his strong hand lightly touching mine.

I instantly regretted not wearing something a little sexier because I was strangely attracted to this fifty-ish man.

I didn't move my hand until Phil reached for the doorknob; he pushed the door open and waved me inside. His office, if you could call it that, was little more than a closet; there was an old schoolteacher's desk along the back wall with just enough room to fit a desk chair between. A couple of feet inside, two wooden chairs faced the desk—a single two-drawer file cabinet against the end wall served as his coffee maker table. There was an old looking corkboard mounted on the other wall with hooks that held the keys for his inventory. The remaining wall space had pictures or posters thumbtacked to the painted wood paneling.

"Would you like a coffee," Phil asked as he closed the door behind us.

I followed him to the file cabinet and replied, "Yes, that would be nice."

He poured coffee into two paper cups and, as he handed one to me, asked, "Cream or sugar?"

I lifted the cup to my lips and took a sip; it was only lukewarm and tasted very bitter. I suspected he had brewed the pot earlier in the morning.

"I'm good," I said, knowing I wouldn't be drinking any more of his burnt coffee.

"Have a seat," Phil said, pointing toward one of the chairs facing his desk.

I sat down and crossed my legs; at least I could show him my sexy toenails poking from my sandals.

Phil picked up a small pocket-sized notebook from his desk and sat down on the chair next to me. He flipped to a fresh page and jotted my name at the top.

"Tell me what kind of car you see yourself in?" Phil asked.

I thought momentarily, then said, "I'd like a red sporty model with leather seats, something that isn't too hard to get in and out of."

Phil made some notes on the page and then turned a little toward me. I could tell he was checking out my looks, and I grinned, wondering if he still found me attractive.

"Why is it important that your car be easy to get in and out of?" he asked.

I flipped my hair to one side and smiled widely at him before saying, "You see, I very seldom wear jeans and sandals. I'm actually more comfortable in a short skirt and stilettos. Climbing out of one of those low-to-the-ground sports cars wouldn't make me look very ladylike."

Phil made a couple more notes on his pad, then stood up and turned to face me with his back to the desk.

"Okay, I think a flashy red SUV with black leather interior should fit the bill quite nicely," he suggested.

This time, his eyes roamed down from my face to my chest and then to the form-fitting denim covering my legs. I was certain he was imagining what my legs would look like in a short skirt and stilettos.

"That sounds good, but do you think you'll be able to find such a car at the auction?" I asked.

"No problem. They're a dime a dozen, and I can have just what you're looking for here on Saturday," Phil replied.

I moved my hand to my chin like I was thinking, then asked, "But what about the price?"

"That's not a problem. I'm sure you'll be happy with the price, and if it's more than you wanted to spend, we'll work something out," he replied with a grin.

His demeanor from the moment I pulled into his lot until he admitted we could work something out all led me to the same conclusion. I wanted his hard cock buried inside me. I stood and walked to the door, turned the deadbolt, and flipped the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED." I pulled the smoke-stained shades down on the windows on either side of the door.

When I turned around, I saw Phil had a massive smile on his face. As I undid the clasp that held my jeans tightly around my waist, I said, "I think I should give you an incentive to find me the perfect car."

He leaned against the desk, placed his hands on the edge on either side of his body, and watched as I slipped my sandals off and, while slowly walking towards him, slid my zipper down.

Once I reached him, I rose onto the balls of my feet and wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him a light kiss on the mouth. His hands moved from their resting place on the desk and slipped inside the waistband of my jeans, sliding down over my naked ass cheeks.

I cooed softly as he gave my ass a gentle squeeze. "I love wearing sexy underwear," I said as his fingers found the thin strip of fabric running between my ass cheeks.

I left one hand resting on his shoulder, using my long, sexy nails to tease his wavy hair, but ran the other down over his chest and his paunchy belly to his crotch. Through his jeans, I couldn't tell much about his cock other than the fact that it had already started to grow.

We were staring into one another's eyes as I stretched up again to kiss his mouth more passionately than before, my tongue probing between his parted lips.

I started stroking his cock through the fabric. It didn't feel overly large, but his cock became rock-hard as I teased it through his jeans. His hands continued to knead the soft flesh of my ass cheeks, occasionally sliding one hand down through the crack, first to my asshole, then continued to my cunt which was getting wetter by the minute.

"I want this hard cock inside me," I said as I tried to undo his belt buckle.

Phil apparently wanted the same thing. He turned around and slid behind me, pressing my abdomen against the hard edge of his desk. His hands slipped under my sweater and up onto the fabric of my bra. He squeezed my soft tits several times, then lifted my sweater over my head, turning it inside out as he stripped the garment from my body.

"You've got beautiful tits," he said as his hands returned to the soft flesh oozing over the cups of my bra.

I pressed my ass back against his loins, feeling his rock-hard cock through two layers of denim.

Phil continued playing with my tits, sliding his fingers across the exposed flesh, then moving down to squeeze the luscious orbs still confined in my bra.

"Touch my nipples," I urge, wanting him to unleash my big tits.

He hooked his fingers under the edge of my lacy cups and pulled them down, hooking the fabric under my breasts. His hands slid up and covered my erect nipples, then slowly moved his fingertips in to tweak the hard nubs at the center.

I moaned deeply as his hands covered and played with my sensitive nipples.

"God, I want your cock!" I excitedly said.

He abandoned my tits and moved both hands to my waist; in a moment, his strong hands pushed my jeans down to mid-thigh, exposing my smooth ass and thong-covered cunt.

I felt his hands slid off my body and knew he was unleashing his rock-hard cock.

A moment later, I felt it; his fully erect cock slapped against my ass. He moved one strong hand to the center of my back, just above my bra strap, and pushed me down, bending me over his desk. He began sliding his cock between the cheeks of my ass.

"Yes, that's it; gimme that hard cock," I pleaded.

I felt one finger hook under the thin strip of fabric, holding my thong to my loins before pulling the garment out of his way. His hand grabbed his stiff cock and brought the head to my lips. In an instant, he impaled my wet cunt, slamming his cock balls deep inside me.

I squealed with sheer delight at the force he used to enter me. One second he was outside, and the next, he was buried in the searing, hot flesh of my cunt.

His hands grasped my hips, and he began pounding me with his erect hard cock, his balls slapping against me each time he drove it home.

"Geez, your cunt is so fuckin' tight," Phil exclaimed as my flesh molded to the shape of his cock.

His thrusts inside took on a deliberate pace, and I stretched my arms across his desk, grabbing the edge so I could push my loins back toward him as he pounded me from behind.

Phil either liked or was accustomed to a quick wham-bam-thank-you-mam kind of fuck because he started driving his cock into me with a quickening pace.

"I'm gonna cum!" he exclaimed as I felt his rock-hard cock swell inside me.

"Give it to me. I want your hot sauce," I said, urging him to empty his balls of every drop of thick cum they could provide.

With a hearty groan, his orgasm started, his cock spurted thick wads of cum into my quivering, wet cunt, and instantly, our fucking took on a sloppy kind of sound. His balls produced more cum than my tight cunt could hold, and I felt it oozing from me and running down my legs and soaking into my jeans.

Phil pulled out and took a step back. I knew he was surveying the damage, watching as my tight cunt oozed his thick, creamy cum.

I straightened up and instantly turned to face him. His face was covered with a shimmering coat of sweat, and his eyes told me he was amazed at what had just happened.

I grasped his slippery cock as I crouched before him and said, "Let me clean this big cock up."

I took his cock head between my lips and sucked hard on the flaring head, trying to elicit that final droplet of cum that always remains inside a man's cock after he's shot his load. My eyes focused up at him as he watched me suck and lick his cock clean of our combined juices.

Once satisfied that I'd recovered every drop possible, I stood up, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "If you find me that perfect car, I'll give you the best deep-throat blowjob you've ever had."

Phil just smiled.

I pulled the cups of my bra back up over my soft tits, then reached down and yanked my jeans back over my hips. Phil reached for and handed me my sweater, which I turned right side out, then slipped over my head.

After my sweater was back in place, I saw Phil hadn't moved. His jeans and jockey shorts were still halfway down his legs, and his softening cock was dangling towards the floor. I picked up his notepad and wrote my phone number down as I said, "Give me a call when you're ready to have me deep-throat this awesome cock."

"Trust me, I will," Phil said as he began the process of covering his soft cock with clothes.

Five minutes later, I was cruising across town back in my Benz, satisfied that I wouldn't have to deal with other car salespeople.