August 30, 1999
Sunday evening, August 1
Allison was dressed and groomed for the occasion -- her
blond pubic hair was neatly trimmed into a pretty shape. Every
other hair was in place, too, and there wasn't a trace of the
reformed, slightly odd-looking, Birkenstocked Allison of the last
few weeks. She looked great -- like the Allison I used to work
with. Used to work with?
My tongue flicked lightly over the outer lips of Allison's pussy,
yet I still wasn't sure whether I was working on her or
Roger was rubbing his hard-on against her right breast, calling her
"Amy" -- and urging me to "get Amy nice and wet." Curiosity was
driving me crazy: If she's Roger's new girlfriend, she must have
been living in London when she claimed to have been in Massachusetts
with Zack. Was Zack a figment of her imagination? (I've never met
the guy.) Maybe Roger has installed her in a fabulous new apartment
and Allison's made up this whole story about sleeping on Janelle's
couch. But why lie to me?
Against my will, I was getting turned on by all these intriguing
thoughts. But, even if she had morphed into some rich guy's
mistress, she was still just Allison to me -- a working girl, not
a customer. I wasn't about to lick her clit unless I absolutely had
to, since Allison and I have always preferred to fake it when we
worked together in the past.
Only when Roger got close enough to examine my handiwork did I
start applying the tip of my tongue to Allison's clit. Her slutty
sound effects were almost too hot to be real but the sweet
reassuring taste of K-Y was the giveaway. Wives and girlfriends
don't prep themselves beforehand with lube. Nor do
hookers, when they expect to be authentically aroused. Allison's
professional motor was humming.
She moaned so loudly that I thought my dildo had accidentally slipped inside of
her. Of course it hadn't -- and Roger was too turned on to do a "reality" check.
Allison reached up to fondle my breasts while thrusting
against the outside of the dildo. She gave my nipple a gentle,
playful pinch. Unable to contain himself, Roger came rather noisily on the side of
Allison's neck -- while Allie kept moaning, "Come on my face ... oh,
God, come on my face!" But she was careful to time her thrashing so
that her face was turned well away from the scene of the explosion.
Spent and pleased, Roger wandered downstairs to refresh our drinks.
"What the hell is going on here?" I asked her. "He says you're his girlfriend!"
Allison started giggling, then put her finger to her lips. It was just like old times -- carrying on like naughty schoolgirls when the customer turns his back. "He told me you were his
girlfriend," she whispered, "and your fantasy was to walk in on us while he's getting head from another girl!"
"You're kidding! What about the dildo?"
"Well," she blushed, "he told me his girlfriend's fantasy was to fuck me -- that's how she gets her revenge."
"You were going to let a total stranger fuck you with a strap-on? Are you nuts? A revenge fantasy with some girl you don't even know?
What if he had a girlfriend who was a sadist? That thing's huge!"
"I figured I would take a chance," Allison said meekly.
Suddenly I wondered if she was disappointed when I showed up -- maybe Allison was counting on some high-risk excitement. Is that what a sex-addicted hooker looks for on a Saturday night?
"How did you get here anyway?" I asked her.
"Well, I called Liane," she explained. Liane is a rather elderly madam who saw Roger's dad in the 1950s. "I told her about April and the money ... She said she would help me make the money back."
"Why didn't you just call me? I have your book, you dingbat! You're giving 50 percent to Liane when you could be seeing your own guys ..."
"I'm just doing this a few times so I can pay April back." There was a guilty look in her eyes. "Working for Liane is easier -- it's
harder to stop when you see guys on your own."
"Well, you've had a cell phone for two days," I pointed out, "and you're already hustling. As long as there's a working phone, you'll be tempted. I wonder if you can quit."
"I know," she said ruefully. "Maybe I'll have to get rid of my cell phone. How can a person survive in this world without a phone, though? It's unnatural."
I heard a door closing downstairs -- Roger was on his way back to the bedroom.
"Look, I'm supposed to believe you're a bisexual dress designer from London," I told her. "And you're supposed to believe -- whatever! I don't want to burst his bubble, do you?"
"No way," Allie whispered, "He's very generous! Besides, Liane wouldn't want him to be disappointed."
"So get in the bathroom -- don't let him see us talking. And I'll dress."
When Roger returned, he was carrying a tray with three glasses of
champagne. I could hear Allison running a bath.
"That was rather jolly," he smirked.
"Amy's lovely," I told him. "I can see why you're smitten. I hope we'll do that again."
"Thank you," he said in a proprietary manner. He loved thinking I believed him! I guess two hookers showing up for a double is prosaic -- and tricking two call girls is the ultimate perversion -- for a career john like Roger.
Monday, August 2 -- Post-weekend thoughts
If Allison is so anxious to quit this business, why is she prolonging her temporary ordeal by working for Liane? After all, it takes twice as long to make the money when you're giving Liane her
50 percent cut. Hmmm. Now that I've seen this other side of Allie, I'm beginning to wonder: Maybe Allison has found in April the perfect foil (and excuse) for her own masochism. The idea of having to turn tricks to pay back a scary blackmailer ... or meeting a kinky female with a revenge fantasy ... Maybe this really turns her on!