Desperate Measures Ch 02

Author's note: A number of readers commented after the first chapter that these two stories are a basic retelling of magmaman's two-part series "Working Girl," and it is, up to a point. I was impressed with the way he (or she) developed the main character into a figure of sympathy, and at the low-key tone of her narration.

However, as good as those stories were, I felt there was something missing. I felt the sex was a little matter-of-fact, the background was a little sketchy and I wasn't happy with the downer ending. So I've taken the framework of that story and gone in a couple of different directions with it. I think those differences will be much more pronounced in this final installment.

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The woman was easy to spot. She was an elegant-looking blonde sitting in a booth at a popular chain restaurant, looking very out of place.

She recognized me from the picture I'd sent and she waved me to her table. As I walked to where she was sitting, I was well aware of the looks I got from the men I passed. After all, I was dressed for my work on a hot summer afternoon – a thin sundress that seemed to cling to my body, sandals and absolutely nothing else.

I don't know if they could tell that I wasn't wearing panties, but it was plainly obvious from the indentations my nipples were making in the thin material of my dress that I was braless.

Just the thought of going out in public with no underwear was arousing, especially considering that a year earlier the idea would have horrified me.

But you learn to accept the unacceptable when you become a whore, and after eight months of working as an independent call girl, walking around with nothing on under my skirt was a common occurrence – stimulating, but common.

The woman stood when I approached her booth and shook my hand, greeting me with a small smile.

"Kate, it's a pleasure to meet you," the woman said in a soft accent that hinted of magnolia blossoms and Tupelo honey. "Please, join me for lunch."

I sat and ordered a salad for lunch, then turned my attention to the woman sitting across the table. Her name was Nadine and she was in her mid-40s. She owned a children's boutique in a small Southern town and was in the city for her semi-annual visit to do her buying for the fall season.

She was quite pretty, with a thick, flowing mane of blonde hair that was just starting to show some gray. Her figure could fairly be described as Rubenesque, with ample proportions everywhere except her face. She had crystalline blue eyes that seemed a little ... sad.

Nadine said she'd heard about me from a singles website where I had an ad posted. She'd contacted me by e-mail to see if I might be available during her visit and I said yes.

I was intrigued by the prospect of having sex with a woman who was willing to pay a call girl for such a thing. In fact, I was intrigued by the idea of having sex with a woman, period, since I'd never done it before.

After some small talk, I asked her the question I'd been wondering about.

"Tell me," I said in a low tone of voice. "Why did you hire me? Why are you willing to pay another woman for sex?"

"I ... I live in a small town that is very conservative, and my husband is quite prominent – his whole family is, really," Nadine said. "It wouldn't do for his wife and the mother of his children to be exposed as a lesbian. My husband is tolerant of many things, but a blow to his reputation is not one of them. And, too, my business would suffer. But I crave the touch of another woman, so when I can, I indulge myself, feed my craving."

"But why pay for it?" I said. "I mean, there are plenty of places where gays and lesbians can pick up lovers."

"Too public, and I have too much dignity for that," she said. "I abhor a mob scene. Every gay bar I've ever been to has been like a meat market, and you're never sure what you're going to get. No, this way, I have control over who I meet, it can be done discreetly, and I know I'm going to get someone who is professional."

"Does your husband know you do this?" I said.

"He's the one who gives me the money to do it," Nadine said. "He allows me to indulge my desire for a woman when I'm safely away from home, and in return I play the dutiful wife and mother when I get back."

"I see," I said. "Well, I have to tell you that I've never been with a woman before. I haven't been doing this all that long, and I never had a lesbian relationship before I started."

Nadine looked at me kind of odd, then she smiled – really smiled – for the first time since I'd sat down.

We finished lunch, then she gave me the room number at the hotel where she was staying and told me to give her about a 10-minute head start and to meet her there.

As I drove to her hotel, I thought about how my life had changed since I'd made the gut-wrenching decision to prostitute myself in order to keep my invalid husband at home and to provide for my family.

I had been brought up to believe that homosexuality was a mortal sin, an affront to God. But then I'd also felt the same way about adultery, fornication and a whole lot of other sins that I had become proficient at in the eight months since I turned my first trick.

I had already done things that would have shocked and shamed me before, things that a supposedly "nice girl" didn't do, things I would not have done under normal circumstances.

I had been a happily married woman – a woman who was a virgin on her wedding night – and I had never had another man besides my husband.

But a serious traffic accident on an icy expressway had left Brett a quadriplegic, dependent on a ventilator and a feeding tube, and needing 24-hour nursing care.

After two years of mounting debts that had reached a quarter of a million dollars, I had made the fateful decision to become a whore – a call girl, actually – in an effort to start paying down on those debts and to keep my husband at home.

And now I was about to cross another barrier by engaging in a lesbian encounter, and I couldn't decide whether the nervous feeling in my stomach was excitement or dread.

After a short drive, I found myself standing in front of the door to Nadine's hotel room. I took a deep breath then knocked. The door opened, and I sort of gasped as Nadine ushered me in.

Gone was any semblance of the married matron she'd appeared to be in the restaurant. Her conservative dress had been replaced by a long satin gown that clung to her voluptuous curves like a second skin.

My eyes took in the vision of her fat breasts, with the large nipples pressing into the material, the swelling of her belly that spoke of her maturity and the wide hips that suggested power.

And the sad look that had been in her eyes had been replaced by a look of hunger, of a need that was about to be requited.

I was in a kind of trance as Nadine shut the door and drew me into her arms. We kissed, deep and luxuriantly, and I felt my pussy gush from the feeling of her satin-covered breasts against my thinly clad tits. Our tongues slashed together as lust swelled between us.

I needed to regain a measure of control before I surrendered completely. I broke the embrace, and was panting as I held Nadine at arm's length.

"Business before pleasure," I said hoarsely.

"So, how much will it cost for me to teach you how a woman makes love with another woman?" Nadine said softly.

"Depends on how long you want to take," I said in a husky voice. "I charge $500 for two hours, $1,000 for four hours. For that, I do anything you want except bondage and water sports. That's where I draw the line."

"You look like you're worth it," Nadine said, sweeping her blonde hair back. "I want you for four hours. I want to show you what you've been missing."

Nadine walked to the dresser, got an envelope out and handed it over. It contained 10 hundred-dollar bills. I rifled through them briefly, just to make sure they were all real – you know, standard procedure – then stuffed the envelope in my purse.

Nadine was just staring as I sat the purse on the dresser.

"You are very beautiful," she breathed. "So very, very beautiful. I think we're going to have a wonderful time."

I excused myself to use the bathroom and freshen up, then emerged naked to see that Nadine had also shed her robe and was reclining on the bed like she was in some kind of Romance-era painting.

I could almost hear myself squishing as I walked, that's how wet I was. Now that I was here, now that I'd been paid, I was eager to experience this.

We came together on the bed, two wives in very different circumstances united by our crushing need. I kissed her full lips and raked my hands through her hair. We stared into each other's eyes as our hands delved between the other's legs and we felt the wet heat of our sex.

Nadine had soft hands and nimble fingers, and she cupped my breasts with one hand while sinking two fingers of her other hand into my hot pink pussy.

I just did what I knew I liked, mimicking Nadine's motions, and slid my fingers between the folds of her well-trimmed blonde bush. I worked them into her steamy cunt, then pulled my dripping fingers out and played with one of her breasts, swirling the juice over her nipple.

I dipped my head down and sucked the fat tip into my mouth, licking and nibbling on her nipple. Nadine hissed in pleasure as her fingers picked up the pace in my pussy.

We were on fire with lust, and I knew it wouldn't take long for me to reach what I hoped would be the first of several hard orgasms.

As if reading my mind, Nadine rolled me onto my back and slid her plump body between my legs. Truthfully, she could have probably stood to lose 30 pounds, yet there was something incredibly sensual about her body, the way her curves seemed to move as one.

I felt her hands opening my legs, exposing my angry pink pussy to her gaze. She slid two fingers into me and I arched my back as the feelings swelled.

She finger-fucked me for a few seconds, then I felt her hot breath on my cunt, followed immediately by her wet tongue as it traced a path between my labia. I gasped and groaned in pleasure as Nadine circled her tongue over my hole, and lapped up to tease my clit.

I was writhing on the bed as she expertly used her mouth on my boiling flesh. By then, I'd had a lot of men put their mouths on my pussy, but I'd never had a feeling like this. Maybe it was just the knowledge that it was another woman, or maybe it was just the delicate feel of her mouth, but Nadine had me soaring in lust in seconds.

She licked my slot, sucked my clit, kissed my labia and vacuumed by whole crotch into her voracious mouth. And when she did that, I tumbled over the top.

I felt the hot rush of climax flow through me in waves as Nadine lapped up the fruits of my orgasm. I clutched my breasts, pinching my nipples at the intensity of the feeling. My bright red curls thrashed on the pillow as I came, long and hard.

As the feeling ebbed, I wanted – no, I needed – to reciprocate. I wanted to taste Nadine and pleasure her the way she had me.

And she was ready. There was a wild look in her eyes as she crawled up from between my legs. She pulled my sweaty body to hers and we kissed ravenously. I felt a jolt as I tasted myself on her lips and tongue, but I didn't linger.

I deftly rolled her onto her back, and I just stared at the hot, pleading look in her eyes. I marveled at the way her large tits heaved as they flowed over her chest.

Even as I watched, she brought her hands to her nipples and played with them. I could see the moisture, the flow of fluid as it seeped from her wide-splayed pussy. I wanted it, and I wanted it badly.

I reached down with both hands and spread her lips open, then slid down the bed and got after it. I planted my mouth right on her cunt and sucked, then ripped my tongue up her groove, right up to her fat clit, which hung out of its hood red and swollen.

I don't know if my inexperience showed or not, but Nadine sure wasn't complaining. She thrashed on the bed, gasping and moaning, telling me how good it felt.

Over and over, I lashed her pussy with everything I had, and it didn't take long before I felt Nadine shudder and her pussy spasmed hard in her orgasm.

I gripped her butt tightly as her climax worked its way through her body, hard and fast. Then she gave a throaty laugh as she pulled me to her.

"Yes, I'd say you were worth it," she said softly as we caressed each other.

I spent another three hours in Nadine's company, and we did it all. We slid into a hot 69 and brought each other to a simultaneous orgasm, then she brought out her bullets, a pair of battery-operated ovals that we slipped into each other's pussy.

Then Nadine turned the switch, and it was like I'd grabbed a live wire, especially when she maneuvered herself so that our legs were scissored and our pussies were mashed together in a wet, steamy tangle.

By the time I left her hotel room that afternoon, I had come countless times, and I had a new appreciation for the ways in which women could please each other.

I also had another regular customer who would pay me well when she came back to town, and who would refer me to anyone she knew who might be interested in sampling the best piece of ass in our city.

Such was my life as a whore, always in search of new clients.

Let me be clear on this. I hated having to whore myself to pay my bills, but I'd be lying if I said it was all work and no play. Certainly, there were plenty of encounters that I didn't like, but I also had a lot of clients who treated me well and who made me come.

I had to get some pleasure out of what I was doing, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to stand it. As it was, I never quite got over the guilt I felt at what I was doing, but I managed to put those feelings aside and did what I had to do.

It didn't take long to get myself set up in business. My best friends, Betty Sue and Terry Montgomery, were invaluable in guiding me into my new life.

And before you accuse them of leading me astray, they didn't lead me into anything I didn't want to do. I never fucked Terry – or Betty Sue, for that matter – and they never demanded anything from me except continued friendship.

Betty Sue had spent five years as a call girl in her younger years, and she was full of advice on what I should wear, what I should and should not do. The best piece of advice she gave me was to stock up on condoms, and to make my clients use them unless I was absolutely certain they were clean.

Terry was a CPA, and he helped me set up a business front, in order to disguise my earnings and provide a means to pay my taxes. I called it Fisher Enterprises, Fisher being my maiden name. I registered my "brand" with the IRS and I was officially in business.

Moreover, their older daughter Mallory, now 15, was almost a part of my family, because she kept my little girl, Ashley, who was now 5 and about to start school. Ashley was best friends with Terry and Betty Sue's younger child, Rachel.

I had Mallory on my payroll, at a substantial weekly salary to baby-sit Ashley, and she was also showing an interest in helping the home health nurses who cared for Brett.

Clayton Howell, the man who had been my very first customer, was a huge help. He had a wide network of friends, colleagues, business associates and clients that he referred to me, and I was quickly working as many as six days a week.

Sometimes, I had clients in the late mornings or afternoons, but more often I worked at night. The frequency varied from one night to the next, but I usually saw at least two clients in a given night, sometimes three, but rarely more than that.

A few times, there wasn't any sex involved at all; I was simply hired to escort some gentleman to a social function of some sort. These were usually married men – faithful married men – whose wives weren't interested in the event in question, or who had some other reason for not escorting their husbands.

Many of my clients were people of means, people with influence – businessmen, businesswomen, politicians, lawyers, doctors – and I quickly became adept at moving in a higher social circle than I'd been accustomed to in what I came to call "my other life," the one I had before Brett was hurt.

Most of the time, I met my clients at a hotel or motel, but not on the first meeting. When I saw a man for the first time, I always met him in a public place – a park, a restaurant or a hotel lobby – where I could meet him first and do a quick study on him.

I got to be very good at sizing up a person and figuring out what they were really like, whether they could be violent or whether they had a drug problem. It didn't work every time, but it worked often enough to keep me out of major trouble.

For example, I backed out of one engagement with an out-of-town businessman, and I later learned that he was arrested for assaulting a woman back in his hometown.

I also became acquainted with bartenders and hotel clerks in certain establishments who would alert me if the person I was meeting was someone I shouldn't go with.

It cost me a free fuck or perhaps a blowjob to get that kind of protection in some cases, but others simply did it because they liked having me in their bar.

I was always pretty quiet and a little shy when I was younger, so I hadn't realized it until fairly late, but I'm a pretty woman with a great body and a nice personality, and men liked being around me. I'm not bragging; that's just the way it was.

The final piece in the establishment of my business fell into place in mid-May that first year. I'd been at it about five months, and the one thing that really concerned me was being arrested for soliciting and/or prostitution.

One morning, I got a call from Clayton asking me to come to his office around 1 o'clock that afternoon. He said he had someone I needed to meet. I thought it was odd that he'd want me to meet him in his office, but he said it would be all business.

I arrived right on time, and was ushered into Clayton's office, where I saw another man sitting in a chair. He stood up when I entered, shook my hand with a very firm grip and introduced himself as Owen Hester.

Owen was a good three inches shorter than my 5-foot-10, but he was stocky and powerfully built, with a shaved head that I soon learned was a disguise for baldness. He had a bushy moustache, though, and an infectious smile, which I was soon learned masked a stern demeanor.

Clayton said Owen was the deputy commissioner of public safety – the city's No. 2 cop – and I guess I must have flinched or something, because Owen smiled and told me to relax.

"You're among friends here, Mrs. Summers," Owen said.

"Please, call me Kate," I said.

"Kate, Owen and I have been friends since childhood. I told him about your situation and the lengths you're having to go to deal with it," Clayton said. "He thinks we can work out a solution that is mutually beneficial."

Owen had just gone through a very contentious divorce, and he wasn't interested in playing the dating game and trying to get into another serious relationship. But he did have a deep-seated need (his words) for sexual release and intimacy with a woman.

The proposal he had for me was that if I'd spend several hours each week servicing his needs, he'd see to it that I was protected, both from arrest and from the criminal element.

"Why would you risk your career for me?" I said, not quite believing my good fortune. "I mean, if it ever gets out that you're seeing a prostitute in exchange for protection, your career could be ruined."

"Well, Kate, unless one of the three of us lets it get out, I can't see how anyone will find out," Owen said. "I'm not paying out any cash, since this would be a quid pro quo deal, so as far as anyone else is concerned, you're just a girlfriend I meet with on a regular basis."