The Escort and the Dirty Conscience - Sex Stories

The Escort and the Dirty Conscience

I can still remember the empty echo of my stiletto heels, clicking against the marble floors as I rushed out of the Hazelton Hotel. I felt filthy. I didn’t dare look at the impeccably groomed doorman as he nodded to me while I hurried past him. “Have a good evening Miss,” he said in his well-mannered way. He was oblivious to the debased scene I had just left in Room 2412 as I had successfully turned my first trick as a high-class escort. Yet, why didn’t I feel “high class” at all in that moment? My body ached; my pussy and ass, and mouth felt raw from all the dirty abuse I had reluctantly submitted myself to with Conrad and his kinky wife Tamara. I had walked into that beautifully expensive hotel room suite as a curious college student, but their initiation had left me feeling like an entirely different kind of Alison as I crossed the dark street and hailed a cab. My mind was filled with images of the intensity of his eyes as he had ravaged every orifice of my body, transforming me into a living fuck doll to satisfy both his desires as well as the voyeuristic kinks of his socialite wife. I could still feel his hands digging into my flesh, his fingers thrusting into my pussy, his cock throbbing in my ass as he had pounded me over and over again. I blurted out my home address to the bored cab driver and settled back against the dirty leather seats to stare out the window and relive every moment. Why had this turned me on? How could I have found excitement in such raw ...

... depravity? Sadistically, and as a form of self-punishment, I forced my thoughts to turn to my boyfriend Seth. He was home tonight, studying. I imagined him bent over his biology textbooks by lamplight, waiting for my call to let him know I had gotten home from work alright. He had assumed I was at my waitress job, of course. I imagined what he might do or feel if he had been witness to my transgressions. I tried to process my feelings. Surely I had to feel guilty for what I had done? But then why did I just feel a kind of numbness, like I had just gotten high off a sexual version of cocaine and wasn’t quite ready to come down yet? As an afterthought, I fumbled in my purse for my cell phone. I had to do some damage control. I typed out a fast text to Conrad, the client I had just left. “Please don’t share the details of our evening and our potential future arrangements with Liana”. I swallowed hard, pressing send before I could rethink my words. In a way, I had not only betrayed my boyfriend, but I had also inadvertently stolen a valued client from my friend. This had been the whole reason she’d asked me to this dirty favor for her, believing my naiveté and inexperience would ensure I would see this as a one-time deal. Somewhere along the way, my conscience had reconsidered this promise. My roommate Liana… the one who had gotten me into this whole mess, was still nowhere to be found when I got home. I was relieved for this. I peeled off the clothes I had worn and left them in a pile on ...