Being a whore for an old friend was supposed to be a one-time thing. It was great fun.

Appetizer

When I heard the hotel room door click shut I was between a man who had not seen me naked in a decade, and his bed. I reached behind my neck, opened the sole hook on my dress then shrugged my hips and shoulders in opposite directions. The dress slid to the floor, baring my body for him. An eloquent wordless invitation. Only my long dark stockings remained, and you know those really don’t count. With my back to Roger I lifted my arms over my head and stretched, accenting a sensuous, slithered pose. I wanted our old friend to be sure I was all in for my debut as a whore. Roger was a dear old friend, but he was here on his family’s business so we couldn’t expect favors.

Roger’s immediate response was a little breathless and hoarse. “Darling, seeing you like that, it is a sight for weary eyes. I can hardly believe you are here for me. Are you sure? I was at your wedding.”

He had seen me before, he had even handled and kissed my charms, arousing us as my man and his girl watched. But that was a decade ago.

I replied, “I think we’re alone now.”

“Goodness, you are beautiful. So many nights...” There were noises I wasn’t sure about so I turned my head to see. Roger was working frantically to get his clothes off. I was not one of the young professional escorts that Roger expected as a commercial courtesy on these business visits. But now, a decade later and a few pounds heavier than our last naked meeting, I still had what he wanted.

I should mention that my man, the same man Roger knew, and I are not married, we are opposite-sex domestic partners. That had to do with greedy uncles, a dead grandfather’s estate worth millions, and a small abuse of Wisconsin law. Roger had been at the ceremony but the paperwork our secret. We live as “husband’” and “wife” because nobody cares about the details. Our birth certificates (California for me, Wisconsin for him) identify us both as Tracy Ronnie Maier. Yes, our names are identical, having the same name was how we met in high school. When need arises, he calls me “Ronnie” (so I can “be his baby” like the old song) while I call him “TrAce” (it’s a football thing).

I promised my man I’d call once I had a reading on how Roger felt about me subbing for his usual younger professional bedmate. This was my first date ever that was not my husband, it just happened to be with our special college friend from a decade ago. I was playing a real whore. Would it end with smiles?

On the elevator up I hinted that this was not the usual social visit between us. We were kissing at the time, it started as an ‘old friend’s kiss’ until I led his hand through the deep slit of my dress to discover my shocking lack of panties. Surprised, his finger even brushed intimate flesh! At that his kiss suddenly changed temperature.

Now that I was naked I slid onto the bed, spreading my legs to reveal my moist hidden lips, drawing his eyes while hitting speed-dial. I kept the phone hidden under the pillow as I turned away from Roger. My earbud/mic connected with Tracy’s anxious voice. “Darling? Is everything okay? How...?”

I had to whisper to my spouse, “Roger is tearing at his clothes, getting ready to eat ... and offer me ... something not from room service.” As I spoke I felt I was actually cheating, not on my husband but on my friend-turned-client who would soon become my second lover. It felt so delicious and sinful. “I’m on his bed wearing those sexy stockings you gave me, the wedding rings you gave me, and ... Hmm, that is all. So I must be a very naughty wife. Whether it’s ‘okay’ depends on what you really wanted for me tonight.”

There was the sound of tearing material as Roger ripped off his expensive silk briefs. The mirror gave me a quick look at the cock that soon would enter my body. I turned over on my back, relaxed and spread my legs to give him a better look at my shaved snatch and directed my voice to Roger. “Do you think it makes me look younger?”

Roger made a croaking noise. I knew my pink flesh was wet with juices. “See anything you like?” I asked. “TrAce shaved me earlier ... he said you’d ... lick it.”

I heard matching gasps from both men at my word choice.

I knew my deep slit in front, fat outer lips, plus almost vestigial inner lips form an irresistible pussy. My man used to stare at it while Roger played with my body when we traded partners for foreplay. When we were all aroused Foxxy and I went back to our men so they could finish the job. After we fucked I made a game of showing how I was dripping. In fact, my dripping pussy was Roger’s first sight of me naked. Now Roger was staring with a very hungry look.

When I took a breath, he took it as an invitation.

Roger almost dove onto the bed, aiming the tip of his tongue where my thighs met paradise. His raw enthusiasm was thrilling. His pleasure seeking tongue burrowed in as he made contact, parting folds of intimate flesh. I gasped, it was a perfect blend of enthusiasm and skill at pleasing a woman. As his tongue stroked my valley a wave of pleasure engulfed me, overwhelming my mind. We both made happy, moist sexual noises - which my phone heard. The shock and pleasure distracted me into switching mental tracks, I forgot I was on the phone and shifted 100% of my attention to what I was feeling from Roger.

I was so wet, my juices had flowed since we danced at the club. I had to remove my soaking panties in the rest room before our short drive. There I found a zip lock bag in my purse, with the words “Bad Wife?” written in lipstick. My thoughtful husband knew I would need it.

The wet and inarticulate sounds of pleasure from Roger and I continued as his tongue had its way with my happy puss. My next words were spontaneous, breathless and gave no thought to the phone. “Oh my goodness Roger ... so bold ... YES ... right there ... OH fuck, that is sooo gooood ... Nasty man, I almost ... that was close! Fuck, that IS good ... those young chicas don’t know what they are missing.”

We both knew the pro escorts did not allow pussy licking, dreary union rules forbade it. We talked about it over dinner. But while I was playing a whore I wasn’t really a union call girl, I was an old college all-but-fuck buddy so there were no silly rules about where Roger’s tongue was doing wonderful things to me.

I became louder as my pleasure soared. I reminded myself I was the whore in my first commercial transaction. A pleasant coincidence driven by commercial needs.

Fuck it was good. I felt like a total slut, a happy total slut.

Roger took a breath. “I always knew you were good for it, when we were in the room ... you are so smooth and wet, the prettiest pussy ... I wanted to eat you ... to make you come ... so hard.” He worked his tongue like an artist, a “cunning linguist,” (his favorite pun) getting my juices all over his face. “I have dreamed about running my tongue all over your sweet bare snatch since I first saw it. Actually, longer than that.”

I recalled the first time Roger saw all of me. It was immediately after the first time I had sex. I was naked, dripping with my first fuck, mounted up in reverse cowgirl, and Tracy’s shaft was halfway out of my body as he’d finished spurting. I was facing the dorm room door. Roger had heard us and just stepped into the room. It was a set-up to exhibit me naked and fucked. As he stared at my pussy a decade ago the sincere reaction made him interesting. He still was.