As a high level executive, I work very long hours. I am a total professional, conservative, hardworking, prim and proper. My entire clothing wardrobe is tailored, expensive and high quality. My entire life is careful and deliberate, including my private life. My social circle is chosen carefully to network both the business and myself. I am always in control -- of myself and of the situation.
The fantasy always involved being sexually out of control -- to be the plaything rather than the player. I needed to be sexually used. I wanted to dress in the most disgustingly whorish outfit I could find and get myself fucked beyond reason. I wanted it hot, nasty and crude- the total opposite of my refined lifestyle. I decided it was time to make it a reality.
I deliberated over placing an ad for months. I read a lot of websites first before choosing the swinger site on which I'd place my ad. I posted a racy pic and just a few lines describing what I wanted -- a group of men to fuck me until I'm raw. No lovemaking or tender foreplay. No cuddle. I wanted to be a whore for a night.
The ad brought 100's of invitations, most of which were completely inappropriate. The most promising of the first wave of responses came from David -- a man in his 50's representing a group of friends who'd talked about hiring a prostitute for the final NASCAR Championship race.
First Meeting
Our first meeting was at 7 and I was running late. My 30 minute meeting at 4:30pm had stretched into a 2 hour meeting. I pulled into Applebees parking lot at 7:05pm feeling irritable and flustered. I hated being late. On the way over I touched up my makeup, tousled my hair, ditched the suit jacket and unbuttoned my blouse a little more to show some cleavage. I had worn a blouse that was a bit translucent and my white lace bra was just barely visible underneath. I took a moment to look at my reflection in the car window and pull myself together. I took deep breath and put my shoulders back to get myself back in control.
David looked exactly like his picture and was easy to find at the bar. "David?" I put my hand on his shoulder to make sure he heard me over the din.
"Ryanna! You made it." He looked me right in the eye.
"Were you waiting long?" I asked.
"Not long." He looked me up and down, not in a leering way at all, but in that way nice men do when they see something they like.
David was instantly likeable in that hard working blue collar class kind of way. Within 5 minutes I knew his friends and I would get along just fine. We went over a few ground rules. Boring things like whether or not they could take pics, who would supply the condoms and pay for the room and what my limits were. To me, the conversation was more like a business transaction than a discussion of the debased night of fucking we both hoped would be the product of this meeting. By the time we wrapped up the negotiations, however, David was having a difficult time looking at my face rather than my tits.
It was obvious he wanted to reach out and take a tit in his hand but nice men don't do that sort of thing in public. I leaned toward him over the table. "Would you like a preview?" I whispered. He shook his head like he'd thought he'd misheard. I smiled at him and teased a finger down my breast bone in a way that was not too overly obvious to anyone but him. He hesitated but then nodded his head.
10 minutes later we had the key to a room at the Motel 6 next door -- a hotel frequented by rented women. He was unsure of himself - nice men would be. I stripped down to bra and panties and pushed myself up against him. "Fuck me," I said in his ear as I reached down to find the soft bulge in his pants.
Nature quickly took over and in the next 20 minutes he had fucked every one of my holes as thoroughly as one man can. 10 minutes later I was walking to my car - the address and time of the party recorded in my Blackberry.
The Party
Finally the day had come. I had scheduled my afternoon open and had spent the last 5 hours readying myself for the fulfillment to come. I had been manicured, pedicured, smooth shaven, waxed and perfumed. A washable tramp stamp had been applied to the small of my back by a helpful friend earlier in the day. My nude reflection screamed 'slut'.
My clothing, acquired from an adult internet site, only accentuated the part - a really cheap looking hot pink bra and thong, a stretchy bright pink dress that barely covered my breasts and came to mid thigh. It was just long enough so that when I bent fully over my slit would be just barely covered. I completed the look with matching pink fishnet thigh high hose and chunky clear 6" heels.
David called about an hour ago from room 205 at Embassy Suites wanting to know if 8 was too many. Certainly not! I thought about the experience to come. 8 cocks poking at me, 16 hands grabbing at me, and 16 eyes watching me descend to the depths of sluttery. My fantasy played itself in my mind and readied my body for what was to come.
The drive to the hotel took about 20 minutes. By the time I got to the hotel, my body had already begun to sweat and my tight little box was wet in anticipation. I parked near a side entrance and quickly made my way to the elevator hoping to avoid being seen by anyone. Room 205 was right near the elevator on the second floor. I had waited so long for this and now it was happening so fast. Maybe I should have had second thoughts but it never occurred to me to turn back now.
I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A large black man opened it and looked me up and down greedily. "You Ryanna?" He asked.