Loving Wife Online is a 6.3k-word story about a male escort who gets hired by this woman who wants to put on a show for her husband. The start is below, and you can get the whole thing on Amazon or Smashwords. I hope you enjoy it.
I work as an escort, and you may have read about me in How I Became A Manwhore, although I wasn’t such a good writer then, and couldn’t do all the voices. But now it’s about a year later, and I’m an escort and amateur pornographer, with money in the bank from my sex work.
Now before you get fantasies about my life I should say the escort work is not a full-time thing, and I hardly sell any books. I’m still in graduate school, but I do a few jobs a month and it helps pay the way. I have a few regulars in town, and those are my backbone, but then there’s the fly-bys and one-night stands, the ones who have a good time and yet never come back. And I’m sure they have a good time, because that’s been my motto ever since getting into this business: The Customer is Queen – Satisfaction Guaranteed.
On my escort page I’ve got all recent photos and genuine stats. I’d rather someone not make a booking than be disappointed. I want five-star reviews – and that’s what I get, when I get them.
Someone will see me on the site and make a booking, and part of the ‘wait and see / booking accepted or not’ is me getting a little fact pack that Amy, my manager, sends over. The time, place, special requests and any information she’s been able to find about the customer online.
I’m not a machine, and it works out best for both of us if we know what we’re facing.
This one case was for a woman I’ll call Tara. She was in town on business for a couple of days and staying at the Girodas Hotel, a place that I could fill a short book with tales of, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.
No, I got that message with Tara’s details and scanned them to see if I’d accept or not.
She was 42, seemed to be from Arizona but now lived in Seattle, working for a big company there, one that really wouldn’t want to be mentioned in a story like this, but you know them. Anyway, I looked at the pictures that had been found online and she looked OK. I mean, I’m in my 20s, so 40-something is starting to get old for me, but it’s all good. I knew I could help her relax and give her a good time. I knew she’d go back home and think about me, maybe even find a reason to come back and hook up.
I confirmed the booking for that evening, went back to writing a paper, then worked out with some kettlebells, took a shower and started to get ready about 90 minutes before the date. I smoked a joint before I went into the bathroom, got good and high and enjoyed the clean, shaving my balls and checking my nose hair and nails. She’d wanted a ‘smart casual’ kind of look, youthful, and I put on some nice-fitting pants, a t-shirt and sports jacket, something that could get in a nice bar while still showing off my body.
I put on some cologne, checked my bag of condoms, lube and massage lotions, then went out into the street. It was early evening and still warm, and I could walk to the hotel in 10 minutes, so I did, texting Amy to let Tara know I was on the way.
Now some stories have this long, slow build-up before you even get to the sex, but I always skip those parts, so let’s jump ahead to me arriving at the hotel, feeling all grown up and classy, a boner in my pants. I was going to fuck Tara W~, 42, from Seattle, and I was looking forward to it.
I called from the lobby and she told me to come up, that she had a bottle open, she was ready.
I took the elevator and checked myself in the mirror. I looked good, but I wondered how long I could keep this up. It got in the way of relationships, and while that felt cool and smart – I was a grad student paid to fuck – I could see things getting complex if I met a girl I liked.
I got to the floor, found her room, and rang the bell. It opened, and there was Tara, looking slightly drunk in a business suit.
For an hour and a half I was hers – The Man with the Golden Dick.
I was all smiles, and so was she.
She pulled me in, gave a kiss, and locked the door.
“Sit down, have a drink,” she said, walking towards a couch, a low table with a big ice bucket, two bottles of champagne and two glasses, along with a laptop, box of tissues, small travel bag and a Venetian mask, and I wondered if she liked to party.
“I was just chatting with someone,” she said, tapping something shut on the computer and pouring me a drink, handing me the glass, “but we can do that later.”
“Thanks,” I said, and took a sip, enjoyed it, but then Tara told me to stand up, take my jacket off, and turn around.
“I like to see what I’m getting,” she said, and reached out to touch my ass and then my abs – one of my key selling points, along with my dick (“long, thick and loving,” in the words of one review).
“Mommy likes,” she said, with a wicked grin that got me hard. “Now sit down and we’ll get to know each other better.”
I sat down and went back to my drink and Tara started touching me – my legs and thighs, and then my package, and I was already hard, so she liked that, and I looked down at her hands going over my crotch and saw a wedding ring shine, and she noticed too.
“I do this when I’m traveling for work. Gives me something to look forward to. Nice break from my husband, too.”
She looked to see how I reacted.
I couldn’t help but smile – I loved fucking married women.
“That doesn’t shock you, does it? I guess a lot of your customers are…”
Her voice trailed off.
“It’s OK,” I said, freshening up both our glasses and feeling the wine hit my face. “I provide a service. Discretion is my thing. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
I never knew exactly what to say, was always more comfortable making love or fucking, and I watched and wondered what she liked.
Tara stood up and took her jacket off, started undoing her blouse, and I could see she had a good figure, liked being in control.
“So you’ll do whatever I want, within reason, and keep quiet about it?”
“Of course,” I said. “Just tell me what you want. It’s best for both of us.”
She finished her glass and refilled it, trying to get drunk, and I liked that, because I knew the nervous ones were often the easiest to get off and the most grateful in bed. They just needed permission to feel good, and if spending money on sex made them feel bad then maybe they just needed a little something to open up, to get exactly what they wanted.
And I thought I knew what Tara wanted – erotic massage, kisses, hugs, me going down on her, some penetration, an orgasm or two together, then maybe another quickie in the shower, before or after we finished off the wine watching cable and cuddling.
“Let me get undressed,” she said, “then we can talk.”
“Want any help?”
“Thanks for the offer, kid, but I’ve got a few things I need to put on. You have a drink and relax, take your clothes off. Watch some porn on the computer. Play some music. Get yourself in the mood.”
She took that travel bag from the table and walked to the bathroom, pausing at the door.
“Don’t worry – I’m going to make you work for your money.”
I took off my shoes and pants, keeping my tight shorts and T-shirt on.
People like to unwrap their own gifts, and I wanted to give Tara something to imagine before she got the full experience.
I drank more champagne and thought about whether or not to watch some porn, but since I had no idea what she was into or what she was planning I decided to let that be. No point in opening up some MFM when she wanted FFM, or vice versa. She was into the computer, that I knew, and there was probably something she wanted to show me, but I just wanted some music, so I put on a radio and enjoyed the feeling of being an independent businessman, good at his job, about to make some money.
A few minutes later Tara came out of the bathroom in a corset that pushed her tits up, stockings, suspenders and heels – always a good choice for the older woman, and I was glad she’d made the effort, planned ahead, was into it.
Clients who expect you to do all the work are the worst.
“Want to party?” she said, holding up what looked like a vaporizer pen.
But this kind of client was the best.
I took a hit, exhaled, and then we hugged and kissed as the rush overwhelmed me.
XXX-Fly – The Weed That Killed Hugh Hefner.
She knew what she was doing, and I felt a new respect along with a strong desire to start fucking.
I was going to make her wet the bed.
Tara pushed me away and lifted my T-shirt up, and I pulled it over my head and felt her hands over my abs and then on my cock through my shorts.
I was high as fuck, and she owned me.
“Let’s go to the couch,” she said, “we’ll have another drink. I’ll suck your cock a little, then I’ll tell you what I want.”
I took off my shorts when we got to the couch and sat down naked. Tara was immediately on my cock with both hands, coo-ing over the size of it, the hardness, and way it pointed straight up and looked, as she said, “magnificent.”
I ought to start selling postcards.
“Oh, kid, if you only knew how beautiful your dick is,” she bent down and kissed it, and I smiled. I was getting head right from the start, and Tara didn’t just lick it, she loved it.
I hadn’t had such a good blowjob in a long time, professional or private, and it really seemed like all she wanted to do was suck me off, and I started to worry that I’d cum too soon, make a mess, and fuck things up for the rest of the session.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m a professional, but I, I –”
Tara took her mouth off my cock and gripped the shaft until I calmed down and didn’t cum, watching me the whole time, my face shaking as I almost lost control. When I was done and there was just a little precum leaking from my dick she let go and kissed me, then pulled back and looked a little nervous.
“Can I tell you what I want now?”
“Sure,” I said, “I’m all dick.”