Money talks

“It cost to fuck a Kennedy, but in the end, you cum into money”

There is nothing like the very first time with someone. You bounce compliments back and forth, hoping to get their attention. Honestly, it’s hard work. That’s where hiring an escort pays off. The only thing about a man that I find attractive is the digits in his bank account. Okay, that’s a lie, but it makes sleeping through the night a whole lot easier than caring about them.

Meeting a client is usually done in a hotel or their office. This one wanted to meet me in a bar—another complication to being only eighteen. Thankfully, when hired by the escort service, I was given a fake ID. Shh, I was only sixteen when they brought me on staff. Nothing brings in money faster than a dirty little secret does. There is a kink for every man or woman, and thankfully I’ve become the top girl in the whole agency. So much so that I’ve thought about branching out and opening up my own million-dollar escort company. Dave would shirt if he lost me, but honestly, I’m too damn good to give someone else fifty percent of my profits.

Dressed in a skin-tight leather mini, black corset, and boots that rest at the crest of my ass, the attention of the room was on me the moment I walked through the door. A woman like me isn’t a dime a dozen. We’re a one in a million.

Wrists and throat dabbed with my favorite brand of perfume. The lips are what get the attention. Blood red with flakes of diamonds, it was a gift from a client. At almost ten grand a tube, it pays to be good at what you do. The key to becoming someone’s favorite is to keep your mouth shut and your ears open. Learn everything you can about the client, but never use it against him. Well, unless it’s needed.

“Gypsy Kennedy. More beautiful in person than in your photos,” he said.

I can’t help but smile. My client is a charmer, yet there is something dark about his eyes. If looks could kill, I would be drowning in a lake of misery before the evening is out. I should have run the moment the shiver moved up my spine. What can I say, I have an addiction for pain, and his eyes had tortured me with the first glance. I sat next to him, my legs crossing as I rest on the stool, “Well, at least we know you have 20/20 vision.” I drenched his compliment in sarcasm, knowing that a man like him needs a reason to punish me later. My ass is already tingling as I think about the way his hand will brand me. If I’m lucky, it will be more than a hand. A girl can dream, right?

“Can I get the lady a drink?” asked the bartender.

“White wine,” I respond. Looking at the bartender with a smirk, I can tell he wants to ask but refrains when my date drops a hundred on the bar. Money talks, bullshit walks. That’s been my motto for a few years now. Since the moment I learned the value of my presence, I never settle for less than I deserve. It might seem shallow, but this is business, and no one here is falling in love. I learned that the hard way.

“We will have our drinks in my private room,” he said. My date stood, barely allowing my drink to arrive before he walked away. He seemed straight to the point. I can admire that trait in a man. Plus, he did pay five grand for my company, so sharing it with others isn’t desired.

The room was quite lovely, and though private, the walls are floor to ceiling windows. All tinted for privacy but gave a full view of the bar below—a voyeur’s dream. Yet, in many ways, a nightmare for those that inhabit the room. Another feature is that the walls are soundproof. No one can hear you scream. The moment I walked in, I felt like I was on display for the entire world to see. Or at least the packed bar.

“Strip down to your boots. Everything else is to be placed on that chair in the corner,” he said. His eyes were traveling from me to the chair.

I glance over, nodding, “As you wish.” Sitting the glass down, very slowly, I begin to remove the clothing I wore—first, the corset. I unlace the front. The silk strands that bound me taken to the last one, allowing the leather to slide down my body. I didn’t rush this. He seems to be a lover of the arts, and I’ve always considered my body a masterpiece. Unlike the paintings on the wall, I am more the hands-on exhibit. Full breasts on display for only him to see, my nipples ache for his touch. In my mind, I wonder if he is manipulating them as I taunt him was things to come. My hands moving behind my back, smirking as the teeth of the zipped release me. The only thought that comes to mind is, do I take the panties down at the same time, or do I make him wait?

Snapping his fingers, watching, my client has that look of hunger in his eyes. I take hints very well, and the panties dropped with the skirt. Imagine this. A naked blonde, well almost naked. I did have the boots on. I am standing in front of a window that no one could see through. The possibilities are endless. I turned away from him, bending at the waist. There is nothing like the view. A naked girl with her ass high in the air, daring you to come and play. I could almost feel his body touching, yet he never moved from the chair. Phantom emotions and feelings are running high tonight. No one can see me, yet the thoughts of putting on a show have me wet already.

My client, that man whom I will not name, sat across the room with a drink in hand, watching. His eyes never once leaving my statuesque five-foot 10-inch frame. Legs crossed, he brought the glass to his lips, stopping before speaking. “Push your body against the glass, slid your hand down between your legs, and show me how wet that cunt is,” he said.

I stopped for a moment, wondering what the fuck he wanted, but like a good girl, I did as told. Sauntering to the window, I pushed my breasts against the glass. For a moment, I wished they all could watch. I love my body, and showing it off is a personal kink of mine. My hand slid down between my body and the glass, not stopping until I cupped my pussy in the palm on my small hand.

“Spread your legs so I can see,” he said. Quiet, the male sat and watched, directing me as he did.

Legs spread, my nails raked over my lips, the skin as smooth as silk. There is not a better view in the world that a well-waxed hardwood floor. I watched his reflection as the flesh darkened with stripes of red, making sure I marked what I owned. A man never owns me. I’m not one of those foolish girls who spills lies to get his dick harder. A single-digit tapped lightly on my clit—the tiny bundle of nerves sending a wave of fiber optic flashes throughout my entire being. My nails painted to match my lipstick, I can only imagine what he is seeing. My finger flicked from left to right, pushing inside the tight confines of my slippery little seal. A soft moan escapes as my eyes close for the first time. I can only imagine how he feels at this moment. Is his cock out? Or is it struggling against the seams?

Footsteps coming closer, I felt his body taking the space behind me—his hands at my hips, pressing until there was no space between my frame and the glass. My arm trapped, there is no way for me to move. I heard each tooth on his zipper part as the warmth of his flesh caressed my ass. Not once did I remove my finger. I’m a good girl who follows directions to the T. Pushing the head against my ass, at this point, I’m praying that’s not where he’s headed. My cunt needs attention, and the size I’m feeling already has me ready to beg. “Please,” I whisper, my lips mouthing the words against the cold glass. There are perfect prints of red, giving proof that I was there.

“Please, what? Please stop? Please fuck you?” he asked.

Lightly panting, I needed it. My body had gone through withdraws from being touched, and I knew the moment I met my client that he would fill the need. “Fuck me!” I whisper. No sooner did I asked then his cock pushed balls deep inside of me, stretching that cunt to fit him perfectly. One thrust was all I got before the destruction began. Like a rabbit, his cock pounded deep inside, sliding me up the glass each time he retook me. Balls bouncing against my wet lips, the sounds of fuck bounced through the room. Thankfully no one downstairs could hear, or could they? A few times I looked down, I swore that everyone was watching as my body pounded into the mirrored panel. My hands now on the glass, nails scratching down, but unable to penetrate the hard surface.

“You’re a fucking dirty bitch, aren’t you” he whispered. His lips to my ear; every word made my body shudder with need. Was I? Was I a fucking filthy whore? You’re god damn right I am. Hand in my hair, he yanked my head back as his dick destroyed my cunt. Pulling out each time, I was forced to envelop that thick mushroom head each time. A scream building inside, I could feel his heart beating in the head of his cock. My pussy walls tightening around to constrict his flow of blood. I prayed that I hurt him as much as he was destroying me.

Legs threatening to collapse, the waves of heat forcing through my body forced shivers up and down my spine. I couldn’t stop. No matter how hard I tried, there was no way to hold back the moment he exploded deep inside of my cunt, flooding me with his rage. “Oh fuck,” screaming, my body convulsed, cumming with a force that sent blackness through my mind. Juices flowing down my thighs, there was no stopping the cravings that I had. For so long, I never allowed myself to be touched, and one night, twenty grand later, I gave in to the carnal needs of a wanton whore.

So am I a whore? You’re god damn right I am. I tried that love shit, and now, I live for myself.

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