'I fucked your husband.'
She loved telling them. That was almost the best part. Sometimes, if the guy was too small, too clumsy, or too quick, it definitely was the best bit. Not that she didn't enjoy fucking them anyway. But knowing she was going to tell their wife all the details was what made her cum.
The woman's face crumpled, a mixture of surprise and disappointment. Odd really, since this was what she'd paid for, this was the result she was expecting. Anything else would have been a waste of her money.
'I have everything here.' From her handbag she produced a piece of paper. As she unfolded it she reeled off its contents like she knew it by heart. She did. She'd told so many wives that it was almost routine. Except it was too exciting for that. Telling them always made her wet.
'Results of DNA test, conducted by our Harley Street clinic, showing male and female DNA in sample A -- that's the one from inside me, of course.' She loved saying that. Your husband spunked in my pussy is what it meant. A pussy that was getting wetter as she continued. 'And results from sample B -- that's the one you collected from his underwear -- showing only male DNA, They match. Any divorce judge will take it as a guarantee of your husband's infidelity.'
I fucked your husband. That's what it said. And she loved watching their faces when she told them.
The woman nodded, still mute, took the document in a shaky hand and placed it on the table beside her.
'And here are the camera files.'
She handed over a small plastic wallet containing the card.
And here are the pictures of me fucking your husband. That's what she wanted to say, so they heard those actual words, but professional etiquette and all that. But that's what it was. Hardly needed these days thanks to the DNA test. Before that it had all been down to the secret filming, never very conclusive and often susceptible to dispute. But you can't argue with a pussy full of spunk.
She oozed. Her knickers were soaked. She'd be glad when this was over so she could go and have a dirty fuck with someone. Having to stay celibate for a week so there was no chance of another man's spunk in her was a real pain.
'Have you got a laptop, or would you like to watch it on mine?'
She knew this woman had one, but she wanted to put that thought in her head, them leaning over the flickering screen while her husband fucked the pretty girl beside her, all proper and businesslike now, but all wild abandon and yelling orgasms in the movie.
She always came lots when she knew the camera was running. The idea of other people watching her made her horny as hell. She never had to fake the excitement. It made up for a lot of disappointing bedroom performances from the men. And a lot of disappointing equipment.
Hers was first class. The cameras, not the body. Although an hour in the gym every morning and evening meant she was catwalk ready.
Just as well, because she was putting on a show. This was performance art.
And even though they were tiny the cameras these days saw detail like it was a Hollywood movie. They were arranged in pairs. Two for the faces, and two wide shots from different angles so there was no doubt that the husband's cock was in her pussy.
The most damning part of the film evidence was shot in the bar. Another member of the team with cameras hidden in just about everything he carried, as well as the one in his phone. He looked like he was texting, but really he was filming her. Them.
It proved that no money changed hands, that she hadn't solicited him like a hooker, even though what she was doing amounted to prostitution.
'That's what you are, isn't it Miss Cullen? Just a common whore?'
The husband's lawyer almost shouted what he hoped would be his knockout blow across the courtroom. They didn't often dispute the DNA evidence, but with millions at stake in the divorce settlement, this husband had been trying to prove entrapment.
Backfired on him though. She gasped aloud as the lawyer called her a whore, and wobbled on her feet as her legs almost gave way. It was such a genuine reaction that it won her the sympathy of everyone in the courtroom.
She hadn't been shocked by what he said. Her pussy exploded in her knickers and she almost came without being touched. That's why she gasped, as his words thrust up between her pussy lips and her knees gave way. She grabbed the edge of the witness box and managed to stay upright.
Everyone was on her side after that, and the case was all over the next day. Winning always a good feeling. Not as good as standing up in court and swearing on the Holy Bible that she'd let a poor unsuspecting husband strip her hard body naked, sink his fingers into the syrupy hotness of her pussy and then plunge his cock into her. Not in those words, obviously.
In court she was only allowed to say "and then we had intercourse".
But watching the faces of everyone looking at her, she could see they were wondering what sort of girl she must be, if she'd voluntarily fuck strangers for money. And wondering what it would feel like if they were the stranger having intercourse with her.
It all came down to that in the end. Men saw her blonde hair, blue eyes, welcoming smile and a body that had been made in heaven for the benefit of the devil, and wanted to know what her pussy looked like, tasted like and felt like. All men wanted to fuck her. They couldn't help themselves. She never had to ask.
Two years she'd been doing this, and the man in the videos was number thirteen. She'd never had to ask any of them. They always suggested it long before she needed to make the offer. Letting them look up her skirt as she sat next to them at the bar was probably an offer, in real life if not in law. But most of them had already asked.
'Would you like a drink upstairs.?'
They always said that. Fancy a fuck? That's what they meant, but they never said anything that honest.
