Robert Mills - Slut wife

He increased his rhythm until the plunging shaft of his cock was pushing against the end of her cunt. At every thrust, an explosion of pleasure rocked her body.

"It's such a beautiful cock," she heard herself saying. "A gorgeous, marvelous cock. I love the way it hurts me. Oh God, fuck me harder!"

The man was fucking so fast that he was beginning to pant. He paused, staring down into her face. "Let's not do it all in thirty seconds, baby. Fucking like this should last a long time."

She knew that he was right. To hasten the climax would be to spoil part of the fun. It would never do to limit such action or the pleasure of being fucked by such a superb cock.

She said, "Then suck my pussy some more."

He did. For the next twenty minutes he lapped her cunt, licked the skin on her stomach, kissed her tits and tweaked her nipples.

She closed her eyes, permitting her mind to dwell on each sensation, the soft tongue on the skin of her groin, the soft brush of his lips on her nub, then the touch of his hard cock as he thrust it into her hot slippery cunt. Then he was fucking her again and she wanted to cry out because it felt so good and she was so happy.

But it had to end.

She felt the sudden jerk as his prick flared, the last stabbing plunge as the ejaculation came and hot semen flowed into her cunt.

He was whispering in her ear. "You are a real hot fuck, baby. A real good fuck. Worth every bit of three hundred. We'll have to fuck again some time, real soon."

Then it was over with and she crawled from the couch and hurried into the washroom to clean herself and dress. When she came out, he had dressed and gone. There was nothing more for her to do but leave. She hurried out of the room. The people in the waiting room, the clerks at their desks, gave her only a casual glance, then turned back to their work. No one knew that she, Melissa Stanton, had for the first time in her life, permitted a man to fuck her for money and that she had actually enjoyed it.

The advertisement in the paper that Melissa had answered had been so simple. It had asked for young women to serve as fashion models and had given no indication that it might be a cover for prostitutes or call girls.

After five years of marriage, Melissa was bored and decided to give it a try. She considered herself attractive, had a good figure and could work part time. The additional money would come in handy since Martin wanted to buy a membership in the Central Valley Country Club.

She had called for an appointment. When she went to see the party, she discovered it was an agency that supplied models for various stores and organizations for fashion shows.

"It's for the buyer who wants to see how his purchases look on a model," the owner had explained. "It has a lot of possibilities, depending on the girl."

The first few assignments had been interesting and rewarding, requiring only for her to wear attractive clothing and walk around in the store's show rooms, while prospective buyers viewed the garments. For this, she received ten dollars an hour. After the fifth assignment, she decided it was a lot of fun and signed on as a regular model. Later, when she read her copy of the contract, she noted that it contained a statement that she wouldn't object to nudity when it was required. At first, she had been displeased, then when she thought about it later, she had to laugh. How could modeling clothing ever require nudity? Peek-a-boo blouses were cute and she didn't mind modeling them. The same with the short shorts.

Melissa thought about her job as she drove home that afternoon. It was almost five-thirty and she had to have dinner ready when Martin arrived at six.

She swung by the Kentucky Fried Chicken store and ordered a dinner for two. After dinner, she decided to tell Martin about the money and she was sure he would understand.

At seven o'clock he hadn't arrived. She had taken a shower, put on fresh undergarments and a thin frock. She could dress, later, if Martin wanted to go out for the evening. Being Friday, he might want to go to a topless club or see a porno movie. That always turned him on, then they would come home and fuck like crazy.

But he didn't come home. She tried to become interested in television, but gave up at eleven-thirty and went to bed.

At twelve-fifty, she heard his car in the driveway and the slamming doors as he locked it up for the night. She was certain that he was drunk.

Mark Anderson gave her a beaming smile when she went in on Monday afternoon for an assignment.

"Mr. Sandino was quite pleased with you."

"That's nice," she replied, then suddenly realized she didn't know a Mr. Sandino.

"He said you two got along real well."

Anderson searched through his request cards, and picked one from the box. "He wants another session sometime."

"But I don't know any Mr. Sandino."

Anderson chuckled and gave her a knowing look.

"He probably told you to call him Chet. He's like that. Very informal."

"I don't know any Chet," Melissa said.

Anderson tapped the request card against his finger. "Friday," he said, to refresh her memory. "You modeled for him at Summer Fashions. He said you had a beautiful figure and he was completely satisfied;"

A pink flush began to mount Melissa's cheeks. Summer Fashions! Oh God! That's who he was. The man with the three hundred dollars! She hadn't asked his name because he hadn't given her time.

"Mr. Sandino was very nice," she stated nervously.

"He wants you again for an Easter showing," Mark continued. "I told him you would be available any time he wanted."

She was certain now that his grin had become a lecherous leer and the way he was shifting his gaze up and down her body gave her the impression he was mentally undressing her.

Anderson was holding out the card.

"They want five girls at the Bermuda Palms. You pick up your costume from the manager, then mingle with the guests. They have some sort of party going on and Maginis wants some of their new spring line to be seen in public. If anyone asks for the label, say Maginis, but don't quote prices."

"Of course," Melissa said.

The Bermuda Palms was a large hotel, and many of the large stores held fashion shows there. Melissa parked her Mustang in the parking lot, noting the number of cars present. The lot was almost full and she anticipated a busy afternoon.

The clerk at the office desk directed her to the proper banquet room to pick up her dress. She was met outside the door by Jim Shelly, a Maginis employee.

"There are some wealthy buyers in there," he stated. "If they like what they see, it could mean a lot of business for Maginis clothing."

His smile implied a great deal more than his words.

She found herself putting a second meaning to his statement and was uneasy because of the uncertainty. What would they see? She had always worn clothing with a flair and tried to give her best to her assignments. If she could make a gown look sexier by widening the cleavage, or shortening a skirt to show more leg, she did it. She liked the stares that men gave her when they could see the outline of her breasts and the darker shadows of her nipples.

A young blonde woman paused in the process of applying eye shadow, turned from the mirror of the vanity she was using. She gave Melissa a wan smile, then turned back to her makeup.

Melissa viewed her shining long hair, noticed the back of the supple figure and returned the smile. She knew she had seen the girl before, possibly had worked with her but didn't know where.

"Looks interesting," she said, for sake of conversation. "Large crowd."

The blonde peered at her from the mirror reflection.

"A bunch of real studs," she said. "Ml they are talking about is drinking booze and fucking, mostly fucking.'