I’ve never been hung up about bartering. What is it, after all, except giving and receiving from one another? That is why it was easy for me to become an escort. I give myself to men because it gives me joy and the fact that my clients give me money is an added bonus. In fact, it is in itself a turn-on, since a man who has bought me has no hesitation in using me as his slut, abandoned to his use, willingly devoid of choice. I felt no fear or shame as a teenager when I travelled in a first-class carriage on a train and knew that if an inspector came and I rooted for my ticket, revealing my legs and breasts as I writhed and leaned over to delve in bag and pockets, he’d let me go. Of course, I often chose, instead, to travel in a second-class compartment if it was so crowded that I could be sure that a stranger’s hand would sneak up my skirt, and, emboldened by my wriggle, frig me to orgasm while we both straphung blank face towards Waterloo.

But it was in a first-class carriage that I met Elise, and entered into the strangest and most exciting sexual exchange of my erotic life. In a beautiful new train, I sat alone in a plush red-upholstered carriage until the door slid open and a woman entered. A quick flick of the eyes told me all I needed to know . . . late 20s, passionate, inexperienced, questing . . . voluptuous figure, black hair framing blue eyes. Beneath the conventional appearance a kind of fearlessness. I was almost certain that the mid-length skirt concealed a suspender-belt and French knickers, and wished there was some way to find out. She nodded curtly and sat opposite me and I nodded and returned to my magazine . . . but only as a screen behind which to scope her out. I first scanned her image of me . . . taller, blond, high-breasted, long-legs, black suit, pencil skirt. I wondered if she would pick up on that indefinable quality that gives away to those who are looking for it what I am: open-minded and mentally open-legged, always questing for the next sexual adventure. As I crunched the numbers behind my magazine I became aware that she was looking at me.

“She wants something,” I told myself. My heart leaped again. I love people who want something. 
“Excuse me.”
I lowered the magazine and smiled pleasantly, my eyes full of sex. 
“You’re reading ‘Sight and Sound’”? She was inviting a confidence . . . leading to more, perhaps.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. I’ve seen the film . . . I love films.” 
“Me too,” she smiled and the distance between us narrowed as her body language opened even more. Her shoulders spread and her breasts rose slightly and thrust against her silk blouse. “What’s your favourite?” 
“Kubrick, ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ ”, I replied, fast and direct, my smile a little wider, my eyes meeting hers, mischievous, a little mocking.
She grinned and sat back. Game on. I like “Strangers on a Train”, she said. 
“Oh yes, Hitchcock” I agreed. “Two strangers meet on a train. Just like us”.
“And exchange murders. But I don’t want to kill anyone.” She laughed, like a feather drawn up my spine.
“Tell me what you want. I want to know. I want to help,” I said. Serious now. 
“Can you?” 
Her eyes pleaded with me, her body tensed and then relaxed, as though she had surrendered to her need to trust, her need to let go.
“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this.”
“Please tell me.”

Her need, my need, the social masks discarded, time stopped, train and hearts rushing, the electric thrill of hope.
“I’m married to a man. A rich man. A powerful family. I love him and I don’t want to leave him. But I’ve fallen in lust with another man. I must have him, I can’t live unless I have him. But my husband . . . he’s completely jealous, he watches me, he notices everything. If I give myself to the man I fancy he’ll find out and he’ll throw me out, he’ll destroy me. I’ll have nothing.”

I listened intently, wondering what she was going to say next.

“I want him to have an affair. Then he’ll realise why people do what they do, while still loving their partner . . . maybe he’ll let it go, and we can all be happy.”
“And if not you can use the evidence of his prior adultery to prevent him destroying you”.
“No. I really do love him”.
“I know you love him. OK, the answer is ‘yes’ ”.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll have an affair with your husband”. I looked directly into her eyes and relished the moment. I loved what I saw . . . amazement, passion, desperation, need, lust, fascination and dread… and the desire to follow this strange path.

A station was announced; it wasn’t mine, but I felt that the time was right and stood up swiftly.
“Here’s my card. Call me if you want to take this further. I mean exactly what I say. I will make love to your husband for you. But I’ll need something in exchange. Not money. Something more . . . personal.”
Our eyes met as I handed her my card. She knew full well what my price was. 
“Goodbye, stranger.”
She smiled. “Next time let’s have more than such a brief encounter”.
“Call me.” She smiled again, and I knew that the deal had been struck. 
She called, and we met in a quiet café not far from her home. She gave me all the details I needed about her husband . . . photos, car registration, phone numbers, where he worked. I asked her intimate questions so that I could know what made him tick.

I planned to seduce him by finding out everything he wanted from a woman and becoming that woman and then offering myself to him. Elise gave me everything on James; she sent me emails she had found when he carelessly left his laptop at home, along with pictures and urls of the sites he had visited. Behind the strict and puritanical husband was a passionate and weird secret life. She installed a tiny spycam in their bedroom and loaned me a laptop so that she could stream to me gorgeous images of her being fucked by him. He loved to fuck her, loved to grab her and push her on the bed and lift her arse and rip her panties aside and shove his cock deep into her. Her moans of abandon and delight showed me that she loved being fucked like that, swift and hard, and that she loved also knowing that across the city I was watching my darling taking every inch of his big cock, as soon I would myself.

With all of this information I made myself into his dream woman; soft, shy, gentle, sweet, submissive, terrified of the force of her own lust. The family-owned private finance house in which he worked used a succession of temps and I was able to offer excellent references. I soon had a job that allowed me to see James every day and to make myself into what would first attract and hold his attention and then fire his lust until it became insatiable. 

James worked late, in keeping with his personality type, and the shy ditsy woman I had become often had to stay late and catch up. I had opted for a slightly repressed and frumpy look with big eyes behind glasses and pleated but short skirts combined with sexy wide open “come fuck me, I’ll let you” body language. By then I was being shagged in the toilet by the office Lothario, legs around his waist, and rumours were starting to circulate. My poor James would feel conscious disgust but his unconscious would feel like putting me over his desk and giving me one, and it was his unconscious I planned to do business with. He was a stickler for neat dress. When we were in the lift together his eyes would scan with open disapproval my low blouse and high skirt and then linger on my breasts and the curve of my arse while I met his eyes and then looked down and blushed. The faint smell of my recent sex would reach his nostrils and they would flare with disapproval and secret delight. 

His internet traffic showed an erotic surge, and the sites he visited showed me that he was ready for me. I chose a night when we were alone once again as I struggled with a report. I knew that I couldn’t stay after he had gone, for security reasons; so when he was leaving he appeared at my door and looked pointedly at his watch. I rose and grabbed my coat and a brown paper bag and rushed, apologising, for the door. The bag fell, as I had planned it would, and there on the carpet was the little sexy legs bronze statue that Elise had given him at my behest and an hour ago was sitting on his desk. I looked and shrieked and he looked too, his brow darkening.

“So, Susan, you’re a thief.” 
“Oh please, please Mr Abrams, please don’t say anything. Please.”
“I’m sorry, you know I can’t do that. You’re coming with me to see Mr Francis in the morning.”
I burst into tears and clung to him and begged him to have mercy, that I’d do anything. Although he tried to fend me off, his cock was stiff against me in a flash as he felt my hard nipples pressing into his chest. His hand had moved by itself from my shoulder to my waist and then to my plump and inviting arse, my lips were raised to his ear and my pleading voice a whisper of abjection and sweet surrender.

He knew what I was doing and he was angry but it was too late. 
“You thieving bitch” he snarled and took me by the shoulders. 
“Don’t fire me . . .I only took it to fantasise about you. I want you to punish me,” I whispered.

He broke in an instant and threw me on the desk. He dragged my skirt down and raised my slip as I reached back to tug down my knickers. “I’ll teach you to steal you nasty thief” he barked and his hand came down hard on my bare uplifted arse. “Oh Sir, please Sir ...” 
“Don’t give me that you little runt . . .” 
“I’ll never steal again Sir I swear . . .”
“Shut your mouth you bitch.” 
I squirmed as he spanked me without mercy, one hand holding me by the nape gripping my hair and the other smacking hard against the globes of my arse. I parted my legs so that his hand brushed my pussy and he could feel how wet I was.
When he pushed his cock into me I was so ready for fucking I almost passed out with relief. His hand cupped my crotch and lifted my arse so that his colossal member went deep into my pussy and my bottom was dragged against him every time he thrust.
“There you are you bitch, that’s what you need!” he growled.
“Oh God Sir fuck me, just fuck me please!” I managed to gasp and then I came and the room span and I could hear my own voice howling like an animal as my inner walls convulsed and there was only pleasure.

Afterwards I was splayed gasping, face-down on the desktop, red-arsed, my clothes torn off, thoroughly fucked. In that moment I was totally the possession of the man who had just taken me.

We said nothing as we hurried to rearrange our clothes and leave the building. As the lift opened he looked at me with empty naked eyes and I leaned my head against his chest and said “Thank you Sir, I’m so grateful to you. You can do that to me any time, just tell me when you want me.”

He said nothing but I knew that after a fuck like that there would have to be more. And there were. Next morning I came in early to remove the tiny spycam that had recorded every grunt and groan of the night before and when he arrived I was seated, eyes downcast, at my desk . . . but before 11 o’clock I was in his office, on my knees under his desk with his huge cock in my mouth while my hand stroked his balls until his come filled my mouth. Every day he would find a way to take me without preamble, grabbing my arse and dragging me into the executive washroom and locking the door while his hands tugged my knickers down and he fucked my pussy or my arse or pushed me to my knees and grabbed my hair while he pushed his cock into my willing mouth. 

“Jesus! Elise and I were in my bedsit watching my spycam material. She looked away from the screen and met my smiling eyes. 
“You certainly fucked my husband” she smiled back. “Can I see it again?”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it”, I grinned.
“Not as much as you did”, she replied.
“He’s a wonderful fuck . . . as you know.” 
“Ever since he started screwing you, he’s been taking me twice a day, at night and in the morning.”
“He seems to have plenty to go around.”
We smiled at each other and held the silence. We were both aware that we were in a bedroom, alone, and our pussies were wet, our breasts aching.
“That husband of yours has fucked me so hard he’s made me sore. I hope when you ask me to fuck your lover, he has a slightly smaller cock.”
“Poor you. Can I make it better?”
“That’s one of the things I want.”
“I hope the others are as pleasant.”
She was sitting sideways on my bed and I was kneeling in front of her. I let my eyes wander slowly over her lovely body, knowing that she was watching me, knowing that she was waiting for what was to come. Her purple blouse showed her big firm breasts and the swell of her belly, and I could hear her heart beating. I parted my legs and lifted my skirt so that she could see that I was naked underneath. Then I asked her to lie down on her back, and I straddled her and knelt over her, looking down, my wet pussy inches from her face. She gently touched my swollen lips, parting them slightly, and then began to lick me slowly from arsehole to clitoris, her tongue flickering lightly across my perineum almost drowning me in pleasure. I put my hand behind her head and forced her face into my crotch and she gasped and her tongue worked faster. I was panting now and I reached back and ran my fingers over her sopping pussy and deep then into her sex. Finally, we came, fused in delight.

“So you’ve fucked my husband, and now you’ve fucked me,” Elise mused as we lay together. “What are you going to do to me now?”
“What can I do to you?” I asked her.
“Anything”. Her voice was a whisper, and to emphasise her submission she knelt to lick my sex again. I lay back and admired her long legs and smooth curvaceous arse, the dark fur of her pussy, slick and wet, her strong firm big-nippled breasts, her lovely face soft and enraptured as her tongue lapped my pussy.
“Not yet . . . Get over my knees little bitch.” I told her. She stopped and tensed, and for a moment I thought she might refuse. Then her will broke and I could feel the shock of her delight in her own surrender. She slid across me and her warm weight was heavy on my lap as she sighed and relaxed. My breath caught in my throat and desire flooded me. I looked at the length of her, stretched across my knees as I sat on the bed, her face pressed into the coverlet, her lustrous black hair fanned out, her wide shoulders, the long silky curve of her back, and that wonderful big tight rounded bum, waiting, legs a little parted, for the beating she knew was coming next.
“So . . . you ask strangers to fuck your husband.”
Whack! My open hand smacked her bum so hard that she jerked and her legs thrashed and I had to pull her hair and push her down to hold her.
“No. Please. Don’t hit me. I can’t bear it.”
“And then you suck the pussy that pleasured your man.”
The smack and her scream must have been heard in the street. She began to sob and plead for mercy; I pushed her face into the quilt.
“What do you deserve, you bitch?”
I lifted her face. “What do you deserve?” I demanded.
“Beat me . . . beat me please,” she pleaded.
“Say it again.”

Stronger now that her will had broken and she knew, and could no longer resist, her inner need.
“Beat me, beat my arse, please do it to me” . . . her soft voice thrilled me, and the glad shame on her face behind the curtain of hair.
I smacked her arse until she wept and then I left her lying splayed face-down while I put on my biggest strap-on.
“Watch me,” I instructed.

She looked sideways and saw the size of the dildo and gasped with fear. 
“You can take it . . . I took your husband’s big cock for you . . . do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she breathed. I knew that I had broken her and she would do anything I asked now.
“Spread your legs.”
She raised her arse compliantly and opened her legs . . . I paused to admire the sight of a beautiful woman kneeling on a bed, face down and bum in the air.
“Good girl.” I smeared lubricant on her arsehole and slid first one finger, then two into her rectum.
She stiffened with shock. “Please no, not my arse, please . . . fuck my pussy, please don’t fuck me in the arse.”

The smack she got in reply silenced her instantly.

I stroked her pussy and I could feel her excitement and then I slid my fingers in her arse again and she spasmed with delight.

“OK, put it in my arse, please, fast, I want it . . .”
Slowly and carefully I gently slid the huge dildo into her bum . . . we worked together, me guiding her with my hand on her haunches, she wriggling to gain an inch each time . . . finally she lay, almost afraid to move, her bum raised, nine inches of my dildo nestled tight in her backside.
I moved slowly at first and then, as she grew used to it, I rode her harder and harder until her back arched and her bum pressed against me and she came and came and came. I had to put my hand over her mouth and smack her arse again to silence her screams of pleasure.

We lay curled together as the shadows lengthened on the wall. 
At last I said, “I have to go . . . James has told me to be at the office at 9.”
She watched me dress and then I handed her back her laptop with a meaningful look.
“Why not watch him ride me? I’ve got a new feed from the office spycam.”
Her smile told me all I needed to know and I was whistling to myself as I went down the stairs, my pussy tingling in anticipation of the fucking I knew James was going to give me. I couldn’t get enough of that big hard cock of his and it was refreshing to forego the preliminaries and just be grabbed and shagged into delirium as James preferred to do it. Now I knew why Elise didn’t want to lose him . . . where else would she find a man who could fuck her like that?

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