A Womans Work

Susan slipped out of her car, slinked into the office of the crumbling motel, hard by the turnpike. "Good morning, Anwar," she greeted the swarthy owner.

"Good morning, Ashley," he replied in clipped accent, "you are early today."

"One of my clients has an afternoon meeting and wants to get an early start." As he handed her the key, she said, "Thanks, sweetheart," slipped down the row of doors in need of paint, unlocked what she thought of as her 'office,' hung a garment bag in the closet and inspected the chamber. Anwar kept it in great shape, as luxurious inside as it was unappealing outside. Deep shag carpet, a bed with firm mattress, clean crisp sheets with a burgundy comforter, massive mirrors on walls opportune for observing any liveliness within the room. The bathroom was well appointed, if not particularly posh - there would be no cuddling in a hot tub here, but that's not what the patrons desired.

From the Louis Vuitton carryall she toted, she brought out a teddy Jeff hadn't seen before, stripped off her sensible yet modish sweats and underwear, and stood naked admiring herself in the reflection. Yes, even at thirty-four years, she remained more than simply 'attractive.' Her stature of five feet, ten inches made her value in her market segment better than average, and she'd actually lost weight in the past seven years - she was now down to 136 pounds. The legs were long and slim, the breasts that she'd never let a surgeon near persisted in their perkiness, the belly was flat, taut, the flesh - all of it - tanned. Chestnut hair with wine highlights flowed to her shoulder blades, perfect after her biweekly jaunt to the salon, her protracted nails were of the same soft fuchsia as her lipstick, the nether region bald except for a thin mane shaped as an elongated vee. She toiled arduously in maintaining this body, but the admiration - and premiums - she received from her patrons were the reward.

She began to put the teddy on. It consisted of three substantial fragments of black lycra woven together by willowy bands. Susan required nearly ten minutes to don the complex garment and ensure each strap was perfectly positioned. Jeff enjoyed eccentric raiment, and Susan was certain this would appeal to him. Slipping on high-heeled sandals, she scrutinized her jewelry of tumbling earrings, coordinating bracelets on wrist and ankle, an exotic ring with metallic inlay that harmonized with the clothing and, on the ring finger of her left hand, the wedding ring. So many men wished desperately that they were making love to another man's wife, and, really, it was so harmless. Several spritzes of perfume she'd had concocted by a specialty retailer completed the preparations.

Another lasting look in the mirrors to ensure everything was perfect, and, as always, it was. Illusion, Susan had been taught from the very beginning, was the crux of illicit relations, and Susan was practiced in her craft.

Glancing at the clock, concealed in a manner that she could read but that her clients were unlikely to concentrate on, she realized she had over ten minutes until Jeff was due to arrive, and so she perched on the bed and read a chapter of a current novel.

Exactly on the dot of 11:15, the knock was sounded, and Susan opened the door joyfully. "Hello," she crooned.

"Hi," he responded. "Ashley, you look wonderful! Wow, that outfit is sexy."

"Like it?" She twirled, allowing him a vista of all her best attributes, from the plumpness of her concealed breasts to the curvaceousness of her rear, hidden by nothing but one thin strap that dug deeply into the fissure.

"I certainly do! Hey, thanks for letting me come early. The CEO is in town, and he wants to have lunch with a bunch of us downtown. But I didn't want to pass you up, either."

"You're welcome. It isn't a problem." She led him to the bed, unbound his tie, began to unbutton his shirt. While she undressed him, he chatted about a few problems he was having in his business. This was typical, services for her regulars included as much psychotherapy as physical relief, and after three years, Susan felt she was as familiar with Jeff's wife's moods as she was with his body. At length, when he was completely unclothed, he wound down and began to concentrate on her flesh and prodded her soft parts with fingers and tongue. She shifted, he was on his back, she on her knees, his nutsack nestled in her palm and her mouth encircled his baton. He relaxed, one hand exploring her backside, and wallowed in her ministrations. As always, she brought him to the cusp of surging, and then waited for his decision. Today, it seemed, he wanted to bury himself within her, and she assisted him as he gingerly removed her costume, then discovered his aspiration for the day. She settled the condom unto him, kneeled upon the side of the bed, and placed her vulva in a position that allowed his entry. He stood behind her while she wagged and squirmed, contracted and relaxed her muscles, alternatively exciting and calming him until he chose to ejaculate. She kept him in the state of excitation as long as possible, until he ultimately crumpled onto the bed.

She removed the condom from his limp serpent, and used her mouth and tongue to cleanse his pubic area of the residue. It was her trademark, she thought, one of her first clients had responded so gratefully to the post-coital attention that she performed it as a rite. She didn't mind it, even through the bitter residue of the latex.

Moments later, Jeff rose and donned the clothes he'd so recently removed. "Got to go, Ashley, hope you don't mind."

She moved to the closet, wrapped herself in a translucent kimono. "Of course not, pet, I know how busy you are. Will I see you next week?"

"Usual time."

"I'll be here," she crooned, held her face to be kissed a last time as he placed the envelope in her hand and simultaneously dashed to the door, only forty-eight minutes after he'd arrived.

As soon as it closed, Susan tore the sleeve open and found the hundred-dollar bill. He was such a dear, paying his usual fee even if he had made the visit untypically brief. Of course, the $150 an hour base fee had already been charged to his credit card by her service; this was a tip, meant only for her.

She had plenty of time to ready herself for the next client, and began by changing the sheets with clean Egyptian cotton from the closet. When the suite was devoid of any sign of Jeff - the used condom was tied and put into a plastic bag for future disposal - she went to work on her body. Two feet of water were poured into the tub and she first douched herself over the toilet, then dipped herself into the bath, foaming each inch of her body with luxury soap, then rinsing herself painstakingly under the shower. Susan was aware that the men she cavorted with fantasized that he was the only man she'd ever been with; this was part of the escapade, and she honored their craving.

Then she washed her face until it was bare, taking care not to wet her hair, and reapplied foundation, blusher, powder, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Susan was as practiced in the techniques of beautifying herself as she was in the art of the bed, and as she provisioned herself for the next romp, she considered her strategy.

Leonard was a new client, and this would be the first time they'd met. Another girl, Myrna, was retiring and was placing her regulars with other fille de joies. When she'd been approached, Susan had at first demurred, as she had twelve regulars and her desire was for only seven appointments per week. But Myrna had insisted that Leonard was special, that he deserved an experienced, arousing woman, and (this was, of course, the determinant factor,) he was a fantastic tipper. In the end, Susan decided to give him a tryout.

For this tryst, Susan dressed herself in a clingy dress of fuchsia, strapless and divulging the top fourth of the breasts, with a hem that reached mid-thigh. Stockings were drawn over the legs, and underneath she wore only a transparent thong. Dangly earrings were pinched in and the wedding band remained; Myrna had expounded that Leonard liked to hear stories of a cuckolded husband.

A bit after the appointed time, a timid rapping was heard, and Susan answered the door. "Hello, I'm Ashley," she smiled, "You must be Leonard. Come in."

Leonard was casually and well dressed, with a full mane of silver hair and distinguished facial features; he appeared to be in his mid-sixties. The dear had brought with him a bottle of Vueve Cliquot Champagne, and he presented it as a gift. "Oh, thank you," she purred in her best contralto, and poured the liquor into flutes from a cupboard.

They relaxed on the couch, physically close but not yet intimate, and talked. As was usual, Susan steered the discussion, got him to tell her a bit of himself, how he was a self-made multimillionaire, married to a woman who didn't know, or care, how to satisfy him any longer. In answer to the expected question, Susan concocted a story of her husband, a bank manager who had no idea whatsoever of her daytime activities, who was tiny in endowment and a wimp in the sack. By the time the stories had been told, she had fondled Leonard's cheek and arms, and he'd taken her into a hug and had begun to accost her. She revealed her breasts for him and let him suckle. Uncovering his chest, she sunk her teeth into his nipple, harder and harder until he gasped, "Enough." Myrna had explained how he was a modest masochist.

After awhile, they traipsed to the mattress, completed the ritual of disrobing, and explored each other's sensitive areas. Leonard seemed taken by the length of her body, desired to visit her clitoris with his tongue. To Susan, this was unusual, most men chose not to take this liberty with a woman who was, after all, a prostitute. But Leonard not only wanted to perform cunnilingus, he was quite competent as well.

Susan had an active libido - no woman who enters her business willingly is deficient in that area - but never allowed herself to expect an orgasm with a patron. When it happened, she thought of it as a fringe benefit. She realized early that Leonard could supply that bonus, and she accepted it willingly, sincerely (if perhaps a little more loudly than necessary) screaming in pleasure.

Then protocol demanded a shift in positions, Susan performed fellatio, then relaxed as Leonard took her more or less in missionary. He had no difficulty maintaining an erection - Susan suspected viagra - and he slithered within her for some time. She utilized all of the slight of hand she'd garnered over the years to assist him; clamping her vaginal muscles, tweaking a nipple, fingering the anus, but he refused to explode. As she read it, it wasn't from lack of ability, it was more of a desire to extend the playtime. Then he shifted, entered her from a sideways position, and they twisted together until she felt his convulsions.

She let him calm, then performed her clean-up routine to his approval and amazement. Only seventy minutes of the contracted one hundred twenty had passed, so when he pulled her to him for cuddling, she played ball. They sipped the champagne, she pressed her torso to his, she fondled him. After a lull she found his penis to be again in a semi-rigid state, and she wasn't surprised. Even at his advanced age, she knew, the excitement of being with a new, younger woman often allowed for a reprise.

When further fondling had produced the requisite firmness, she put another party hat on the rod, climbed over him and sunk down. She recognized that it was time for a good, old-fashioned, lazy one, and without any hurry, she screwed him.

This was a time, she perceived from the sophistication she'd garnered, that she could not only give her customer what he wanted, she could also amuse herself. And so she contorted herself in methods guaranteed for maximum pleasure, and soon was sensually moaning, allowing the tide of orgasm to ripple through her frame. Occasionally she'd check the ward below her to ensure he was still happy, and when she'd had enough of the pleasure, she concentrated on his gratification to the point that he once more defused.

They unlinked, he stepped into the bathroom, she put on the robe. When he returned and began to dress, he said, "You're fantastic, you know. I'd like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course," Susan agreed, "just give the service a call, and they'll set up another appointment." Really, she was glad to have this one, and silently thanked Myrna for the gift. Before he left, Leonard took two small envelopes from a pocket, found the one he wanted, and handed it to Susan. After he'd left, she found that the packet contained five hundred dollars - one of the best tips she'd ever received!

Susan cleansed herself once again, this time subduing her facial makeup. She reported into the service, letting them know that the contracted labor had been completed, alerting them to Leonard's new status and ensuring that the next day's schedule was set.

Then she climbed into the gold mist Escalade and planned the rest of her day. Her nine year old daughter had to be picked up at the private school, the dry cleaning had to be collected, she wanted to make a new veal dish she'd read about for her husband, and later that evening, she had to make a number of phone calls soliciting for the Charity Fund.

A woman's work, she sighed, is never done.