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By Lauren McAllister
It was a time in my life when my spirits (both the cheery kind and the alcoholic kind) were at a very low ebb. The fates and circumstance had together conspired to drill me a brand new asshole. And a big painful one, at that. There were richer folk than I in clown outfits, holding up big red arrows and directing passing motorists to soon-to-be-completed condo developments. But the money that I did not have was but a mere pittance compared to the money that I owed. Alas, an unwise choice in love had left me in hock up to my tits and beyond. All I can say is never, ever lend a fellow a sum many times your accumulated worth, no matter how large his penis and how well he wields it.
Needless to say, paying off Donald’s breathtaking debts did not elicit the response I had envisioned. In fact, I have no idea if it elicited any response at all as he was speedily heading for parts unknown before the ink was dry on my check. Once I had recovered from the shock of playing “the dupe”, I had to face some harsh fiscal realities. Alas, my landlord had very little sympathy for affairs of the heart gone wrong and he expected his not insubstantial rent to be paid on time. Plus he was gay, so there was no way to curry his favor by utilizing my feminine wiles. Not that I fancied spreading ‘em for the lowly sum of a roof over my head but winter was quick approaching. Hard decisions had to be made soI let and old school chum take me out for a meal.
Frank had occasionally been allowed into my inner-vaginal sanctum when we were in high school, so it wasn’t like I was prostituting myself for some chicken wings and beer though, I did spend the night. Hey, he had breakfast food!
It was as we lay and basked in our mutual after-dinner orgasmic glows that I casually broached the subject of my tragic and unjust penury. Frank was sympathetic of course, (after-all, he’d just boned me up the ass) but he had neither the funds nor the long term interest in our coital entanglements to offer up any of his own limited savings. He did however; speak of a financial opportunity that, depending on my level of desperation, could aid me in securing merciful shelter during the impending arctic gales.
“My uncle runs this business,” he began. “It aids successful businessmen in reducing excessive levels of tension that could prove injurious to their health.”
You didn’t have to be Alex Trebek to figure out how these poor rich gentlemen were lowering their stress.
“How much?” was the only question that came to mind.
You see girls, that’s what you get when you trust a boyfriend. Some old, rich guy’s cock in your mouth.
“A grand, minus commission for a blowie and 25 hundred for a bareback ride.”
“No anal?” I inquired, still feeling my sphincter throb.
“Please, this is a respectable business.”
If only my landlord was straight, I could have cut out the middleman but no! My job interview was set for the following Tuesday.
I was about as nervous as a duck covered in l’orange sauce, as I entered his uncle’s office. Luckily, he got right down to business.
“Okay, I’m the customer. Show me how you’re going to suck my cock,” he posited, unzipping his pants.
I so wished I didn’t really, really need that job as I got down on my knees and took his revolting knob into my hand.
“This is a friendly service we provide. Try smiling.”
I did my best to show some teeth before I wrapped them around his Johnson and began to bob up and down on it.
I have to admit, that this was the quickest I’d ever indulged in an intimate act with a gentleman after just meeting him. Come on girls, admit it! We’ve all opened up the girlie vault for some sweet-talking hunk in a scandalously short amount of time, after saying the first hello. But holy fucking shit! This was 25 seconds. Tops!
And you’re usually somewhat “fond” of the lucky hombre in question. I took an instant and strong dislike to this jerk in the first 15 seconds, tops. That means I detested him for a full sixth of a minute before I felt the end of his dick bouncing off my uvula. He was piggish and rough and it was about appealing as sucking-off one of those assholes from “Duck Dynasty.” But I needed the money, so I looked up and him and smiled and pretended like his cock had M&M’s glued to it. With some expert scrotal play, I managed to get him to “pop” in a reasonably short amount of time and get the whole horrific ordeal over with. He grabbed the back of my head and almost pierced my skull with his dick as large, bitter spurts of his grisly goo filled my mouth. What a huge fucking Yuck!
“Show me it, before you swallow,” he bellowed.
I so longed to spit the entire pool of goop into his ugly face but I opened up my jaw and showed him his handiwork before ingesting the lot.
“That was pretty good,” he shrugged. “You can start doing appointments tomorrow but I get anything I want, any time I want, absolutely free. Understood?”
“Sure,” I smiled, but I actually wanted to throw up my stomach full of semen all over his two thousand dollar suit.
The nerves I felt, going up that first elevator, were truly hurl-worthy. The marching orders were clear. You walk into the office, you say, “Are you Mr. Gregson?” when he says, “Yes” you unzip his pants and do anything he wants. Mr. Gregson will be bill accordingly.
“Yes, I believe he’s expecting you, Ms. Smith,” his secretary knowingly welcomed me.
Once you opened the door to the customer’s opulent office, it was show time. Most of these gentlemen like to be orally serviced while seated, with me crammed into their desk well. A few liked to look out over the city while they filled my mouth with their splooge. Actual vaginal penetration usually occurred bent over the customer’s rare-wood desk. The fat ones would rest their big sweaty bellies on the small of my back while they rammed away from behind.
But hey, if you liked the job, no one would pay you to do it (and this paid really well).
Meanwhile, Frank’s uncle was fucking the life out of me for free. I got done on the couch, on the carpet, holding on to the water-cooler and in front of a perspective client. It was hell on Earth. After he butt-fucked me at his daughter’s wedding, I practically needed a walker to get myself home.
So, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m on an elevator up to the 52nd floor to swallow the hideous spunk of some overpaid one-percenter. I’d just about had it with this job. My debt was almost clear and after a few corporate New Year’s parties, I never wanted to see another cock poking out of a pin-striped suit again.
“Mr. Selig is expecting you,” smiled the receptionist.
Sure he is. Fuck you, you sour-faced old bitch. That was basically the mood I was in.
That changed a little, when I opened the door to his office. Mr. Selig was younger than I expected. Now, there were plenty of 28-something year-old whizz-kid Wall-Street pretty-boys firing their ball-sack soldiers down my esophagus at this time, but this guy seemed even more fresh-faced than the usual coke-stoked rat-fucks that I professionally pleasured.
“Are you Mr. Selig?” I inquired, knowing full well the answer.
“Why, yes I am.”
He actually gave me a friendly smile. Jesus, how much money would it have cost all those other limp-dicked gorgons to be just slightly pleasant?
“Why, you look like you could really use a blowjob,” I recite from my script.
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Well, I wouldn’t say no.”
“Sitting at your desk or standing by your window?”
“Gee, whatever is most comfortable for you, I guess.”
Who is this mutant hedge-fund manager?
“I guess the couch would be best,” I suggest, after looking around the football-field-sized office. I can’t tell you the size of the bruise I developed on the back of my skull from smacking it against solid-oak middle-drawers.
“Can I get you a coffee or a bottled water?”
“Perhaps later. Right now, I’m just so anxious to drop my wet hot mouth down on your big beautiful cock, I can’t think of anything else.” That was my cue to start stripping. While I was removing my dress, Selig was actually retrieving a Perrier for me from his mini-fridge. If he kept up like this, I wasn’t even going to mind sucking the juice out of his wang! Once I had him comfortably ensconced on the Italian-leather sofa with his pants down, nut-licking was the first order of the day. Now, as a rule, I didn’t do a lot of oral testicle teasing. Basically, my main mission was to get the customer to explode as quickly as possible so I could spend more time drinking Vente Lattes at Starbucks to try and get the flavor off my tongue. But this guy? He looked like he was 12. How bad could his mung taste? I licked his balls and I nibbled at his scrotum. I even gave him a quick asshole reaming! Needless to say, Mr. Executive was practically banging his chin on the end of his man cannon, he was so hard. Down I went on the head. Wow! You could have hammered in drywall with it. There are a lot of positive things to be said about youthful blood-flow!
This guy was really getting his money’s worth. I was slobbering and slurping on that thing like I was trying to drown it. Moans of infinite joy and contentment were rising out of him like wisps of steam from the Paricutin Volcano. After about 100 of these “business meetings”, one gets a real feel for when the creamy crescendo is about to transpire. Selig’s thigh muscles had turned to tungsten steel and he was breathing like Dick Cheney before they put that new heart in him. I prepared myself for the dewy deluge.
“Excuse me,” he half gasped. “Would it be okay, if I fucked you?”
Bingo! That was an extra grand for the company and another five hundred for me. Way to sweeten the Christmas paycheck!
“Sure, baby. Where do you want me?”
He was such a nice guy, I didn’t even mind being bent over his desk for the thousandth time. Unlike the other 999 fuckheads though, Seli was really gentle with me and kept asking if I was alright. My little girlie lips opened right up for this kind gentleman. By the time he’d sunk the head into my vaginal opening, I was practically enjoying myself. As he proceeded to carefully deposit his remaining inches into my honeyed hoo-haw, little pre-cum waves started to roll up through my abdomen. What was going on here? Seli started to pump it inside me but not like he was banging some “ho”. This was a healthy hunk of heavenly humping I was receiving. Oooh yeah, give it to me!
“Smack that thing, baby,” I cooed. This offer had never been made available to any previous customer.
“Are you sure?”
“I have been a baaaad girl. Give that little ass the spanking it deserves.”
So, now he’s whapping away on my butt cheeks and pummeling my love pump with this prick. Yikes! I could actually feel one coming…literally. My little clit started to throb like a cartoon construction worker’s thumb. Every slap of my ass seemed to build on the epic vaginal clench that threatened to turn my lady tunnel into a trash compacter. When my orgasm finally broke, it about blew the top of my head off. “Motherfucker!” I trilled. His cock felt like it had grown to the size of a fire extinguisher as he continued his barbaric thrusts, perfectly matching the climactic waves that were ripping through me like bomb blasts. I let out another unintentional stentorian, ladylike grunt as he continued to ram his rigid rod right up to Rochester.
Suddenly, a side door to the office opened and in walked a sour-faced old guy. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Seli pulled out just as he came, sending large spurts of semen shooting all over my back, not to mention on his desk and the thick-pile carpet.
“Hey buddy,” I barked in response, “if you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy in here, so why don’t you fuck off?”
This interloping jerk turned the color of a Smith Brothers’ cough drip. “How dare you speak to me like that in my own office?!”
I rolled my eyes dismissively. “If you hadn’t noticed asshole, the name on the door says Mr. Selig.”
“I am Mr. Selig!”
My cocky bravado dropped a notch or two. I swiveled round to face the guy who’d just pulled his Johnson out of me. “You said you were Mr. Selig!”
“I am,” he smiled apologetically.
“He’s my son!” bellowed the old fart. Man, this guy was really starting to get on my nerves.
I turned back to Selig Sr. “So, was I paid to suck his knob or yours?”
Now it was Mr. Suit’s turn to be dropped down a notch or two.
“You’re paying women to have sex with you in your office?” his son asked pointedly. “Does mom know about this?”
“Now, there’s no real reason that anyone outside this room needs to know anything.”
“And what about this poor woman? Do you think she likes to have to come up here, behind mom’s back, and suck your old, wrinkled sausage?”
“She will be adequately compensated. And she probably has other business calls awaiting her so perhaps she should get dressed and be on her way.”
“I am here in the room, you know.”
Selig Jr. gave me a little appreciative pinch on my posterior. “You know, I’m not really sure I want to go to Princeton Business School, after all.”
“Perhaps you and I and mother could sit down together and discuss it.” He turned to me. “Would you like to be there?”
“Will you be serving wine?” I only half-joked.
“What do you want?” dad growled after a few seconds of not breathing.
“I want to be an artist.”
Pause. “Okay. Fine. Ruin your fucking life.”
“And I want to make this young lady my first still life model and she get’s $10,000 a day for sitting.”
If looks could kill, I’d be writing this story from hell. After a few more breathless, red-faced moments, he nodded his head and stormed out of the room.
“Randy,” said my young savior.
“You certainly are,” I laughed.
I took the rest of my short career as a Wall Street prostitute off and went for a nice meal with Mr. Randy Selig. And yes, I let him fuck me again that night. In fact, we spent most of Christmas day having sex until it was time to take me to his parent’s house for Christmas dinner. Man, you couldn’t have broken the tension in that room with the Chunnel Drill.
Now, I still take my clothes off for a living, but at least I get to keep my mouth closed. Well, right up until quitting time, anyway. Tee hee!
Copyright 2015 Lauren McAllister
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