Housewife Tales - Dee needs Little Extra Ca$h - Sex Stories

Housewife Tales - Dee needs Little Extra Ca$h

... whacking my clit than from his puny cock doing anything inside of me. I thought that maybe I could cadge an orgasm from this, but that thought ended when he groaned loudly that he was cumming. Lo and behold, I ended up sore after all when he decided to slap my ass at the moment of ejaculation.

Hard. “Damn, did you have to do that?” I asked angrily, thoughts of ‘customer service’ out the window.

“You’re damn right I did. That’s what you do to a whore. You’re a whore, right?”

“Fuck you,” I hollered.

“No. Fuck you,” he said, and grabbed me as I tried to slink away from him and get off the bed.

I couldn’t believe it; even though I knew he’d cum and I saw his spunk at the head of the condom, he was still hard. I fought him yet he pinned me on my back and fucked me again. Not fucked—raped this time. You may think me stupid, but at that moment I let off from fighting him and figured to more or less allow the paying customer to get his rocks off one more time. Of course, that was before he slapped me again. Then, while in the throes of pre-orgasmic happiness he let his guard down. I pushed him away just enough to get my knee right where his balls would be in another second. I was gratified the asshole screamed far louder than anything I could have faked.

Before he could go on the offensive I kicked him harder and yelled, “Get the fuck out of here, you asshole. You paid me for sex…not for this other shit.”

If he had been a larger man I would have been scared ...

... shitless. Oh yes, I was scared, but at least I still had my shit, which I gave to him as he thought better of any further machismo and hurriedly dressed and headed for the door.

“You’ll pay, you bitch,” he cursed on his way out.

“No, YOU paid, you fuckin’ idiot,” I answered, still pumped up with adrenaline. Well, it was a stupid thing to say, and when I realized that (and the fact he was gone and I was still okay) I had a good therapeutic laugh.

I counted my blessings—and my money—and debated whether I had time (or the stamina, or the courage…) for another session. I decided I did and turned on my cell phone and ran through the messages. I started calling and got an affirmative response on the third call. Another deep, masculine voice, saying his name was Larry. We made our deal, and then I showered to get ready for him. He had asked if I could answer the door in something sexy, like a negligee, and I agreed (I said I was GFE, right?). After showering I fixed my hair, put on a little make-up, dabbed on some scent, and slipped into the lacy black number with the matching thong I’d added to my “whore bag” (as I thought of it).

I answered the door nervously, but was delighted at the way he looked at me as I let him in. He was a big man, maybe 6-foot-one or -two, good looking and about my age; dressed well in a sport coat, as if he just came from work. We talked for a few minutes. He was the perfect gentleman, which eased the fears still lingering from my encounter with ...