He’d picked me up in the bar of the hotel we were staying at, and for the second time that night I was going to have sex for money. I didn’t need ...he money, the first guy had been about revenge I suppose, my husband had called me a frump, and said my mother was sexier than me, and why couldn’t I be more like the woman at the bar. Her name was Amy, and as it turned out she was a prostitute. She’d tarted me up, and when I got back, he’d been all over another tart, one with red hair. That’s when. Middle finger circling her clit, slowly, firmly, closing in on my target. Still moaning, breathing heavy. My other hand around her holds her tits firmly, my cock pressing against her bum as I stop her from moving. She is close, so close. Keeping the rhythm of my finger going, sensing her pleasure building, this is what it’s all about. She turns her head, we kiss again, tongues searching. She comes. Tensing belly, bucking hips, scream suppressed by the tightness of our mouths together, she. More

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