Girl for Hire. Various
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were sitting in the kitchen of his apartment. It was surprisingly tidy, but that was only because Peter could afford for a cleaner to visit twice a week. A glass-topped table was between us and I watched him reach into the pockets of his jeans as he struggled to find cash.
His hands were shaking.
I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought it looked like he was already sporting a modest erection that thrust at the zipper of his jeans.
In that moment the dynamics of our relationship changed.
We’d been platonic friends before. Now, Peter saw me as someone sexual. More than that, if he produced enough notes, he would see me as someone sexual that he could possess. The thought melted my loins. All that was needed was for me to maintain my integrity and be a whore – not a slut.
Peter deserved more than a mere slut.
‘Here,’ he said quickly. He pulled out a five-pound note and put it in my upturned palm.
I sneered. ‘I wouldn’t even look at your cock for that much. I certainly wouldn’t do anything sexual for a fiver.’
But, even as I said the words, there was a tremor in my voice. And I was sure that Peter had heard as much. To cover my embarrassment, I lifted the note to my nostrils and pretended to study it closely.
That was when the smell first hit me.
There is a distinctive scent to a five-pound note. It smells of sex. It reminds me of the musky scent I can catch on the gusset of my panties at the end of the day. It’s a lingering aroma of arousal that taints each well-thumbed banknote. As I drank in the fragrance of the five-pound note that Peter had placed in my hand I found the intoxicating aroma had already started to make my pussy muscles clench.
Peter passed me a twenty.
He said nothing. There was only the brittle stiffness of a crisp note touching my palm. As the silence dragged on he eventually asked, ‘What would you do for that?’
I yawned, feigning a boredom I had never felt in Peter’s company. A boredom I could never feel. ‘Double it,’ I said idly, ‘and I’ll suck your cock.’
The words were strong enough to wrench the air from the room.
Peter swallowed. There was a moment when I thought I’d gone too far.
And then he was fumbling in his pockets trying to find more money.
I lowered my voice to a sultry whisper. ‘Do you want to feel my lips around your cock?’ I asked. ‘I could suck you so hard for fifty pounds that you’d swear it was the best investment you ever made.’
Through the glass-topped table I could see the bulge at the front of his pants had grown considerably. Peter made no attempt to hide his arousal as he rummaged through his pockets in the search for more cash.
‘That suh-sounds pretty guh-good,’ he stammered.
‘For one hundred you can slide your cock inside me,’ I murmured. ‘My pussy is so wet for you now I think I’d drown you with it.’
I shifted in my seat so that he noticed I was wearing a short tartan skirt. It was a short tartan skirt that was visible through the glass-topped table.
He went still.
I placed my hand on the hem of the skirt and began to draw it slowly upwards. Peter’s eyes grew wider as the skirt moved higher. His mouth hung open and then he was drawing a tongue across his lips and swallowing with obvious, urgent need.
I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
His gaze was fixed on my thighs. The hem of the skirt had crept so high that, I knew, it would be possible for him to see the white cotton crotch of my panties. I wondered if the panties looked as moist as they felt. Talking about money, and threatening to suck Peter’s cock, had made my inner muscles flow with fluid need for him. I could imagine the white centre panel of the panties was silvered with the dew from my eager sex.
I slipped the fingers of my right hand away from the hem of the skirt and brushed a fingernail against the gusset of my panties. The tickle of my own touch was almost enough to make me climax.
I snatched a staggered breath. And I held myself rigid for fear of suffering an orgasm before we’d properly done anything together.
Peter raised his gaze to study my eyes.
‘A hundred pounds and you can slide your cock in here,’ I told him. Without allowing myself to think about the action, I tugged the crotch of my panties to one side.
I was touched by the delightful chill of the kitchen’s cold air against my exposed pussy lips. The thrill of that cool chill brought me close to exploding. I clenched the muscles of my thighs, trembling with the vibrant need I harboured for Peter. And I steeled my voice to sound cool, calm and unperturbed. ‘Do you want this?’ I asked.
‘Oh! Yes.’
I stroked a finger against my sex. The lips parted immediately, as though they were urging him to hurry up and find the necessary money. I wasn’t sure if it was the intensity of my imagination or a symptom of my arousal but I believed I could smell the piquant aroma of my need for him.
Peter began rummaging again through his pockets. He pulled out another twenty and a ten. A third twenty fell onto the table. I thought it had fallen directly in the line of his view of my pussy and I was pleased that he pushed it to one side. He stood up to delve deeper and I noticed that the thrust of his excitement was shamelessly pressing at the front of his jeans. I barely noticed as he pulled out another pair of tens. And then a twenty. I was captivated by the sight of his denim-sheathed erection.
‘That’s more than a hundred,’ I observed.
I was stroking my fingertip back and forth against the line of my labia. The flesh was maddeningly sensitive. The slippery wetness allowed my finger to glide easily against the bare flesh. Instead of touching myself I wanted to reach up and stroke the thick girth of his bulge.
‘If you’ve got more than a hundred available perhaps we could do more?’ I suggested.
‘Such as?’ Peter croaked.
I slid my finger into the wetness of my hole. The sensation was not devastating but it did send a long warm tingle throbbing deep through my sex. When I slipped the finger out, I stood up and touched it against Peter’s lip.
He closed his eyes as though in an ecstasy of bliss.
‘For two hundred pounds I’ll let you take me up the ass.’
Peter groaned.
‘For this much,’ I began. I scooped up the money and squeezed it in one fist. The sensation of the crumpled notes against my palm was a glorious spur to my excitement. I felt light-headed as I realised I was holding more than a hundred pounds of his money. I tossed the five-pound note back onto the table and held up the hundred pounds. ‘For this much, I’ll let you screw me for the next thirty minutes.’
‘Are you serious, Ma–?’
I silenced his words with a kiss. ‘When we’re playing this game you can call me Magenta. If you don’t want to call me Magenta you can call me Maggie. But you must never call me by my real name when we’re having sex for money. Do you understand?’
He shrugged instantaneous acceptance of this request. I doubt he understood the condition. I’m still not sure I understand why I made the distinction. But the important thing was that Peter didn’t question my demand.
‘Whatever you want, Magenta.’
The name sounded strangely forced, and that added to my excitement. Peter was paying to have sex. He was going to screw someone called Magenta. And I was going to get to watch the experience and take the money afterwards.
My heart raced.
And then I was taking the initiative and pushing myself against him.
His