chill of the kitchen’s cold air against my exposed pussy lips. The thrill of that cool chill brought me close to exploding. I clenched the muscles of my thighs, trembling with the vibrant need I harboured for Peter. And I steeled my voice to sound cool, calm and unperturbed. ‘Do you want this?’ I asked.
‘Oh! Yes.’
I stroked a finger against my sex. The lips parted immediately, as though they were urging him to hurry up and find the necessary money. I wasn’t sure if it was the intensity of my imagination or a symptom of my arousal but I believed I could smell the piquant aroma of my need for him.
Peter began rummaging again through his pockets. He pulled out another twenty and a ten. A third twenty fell onto the table. I thought it had fallen directly in the line of his view of my pussy and I was pleased that he pushed it to one side. He stood up to delve deeper and I noticed that the thrust of his excitement was shamelessly pressing at the front of his jeans. I barely noticed as he pulled out another pair of tens. And then a twenty. I was captivated by the sight of his denim-sheathed erection.
‘That’s more than a hundred,’ I observed.
I was stroking my fingertip back and forth against the line of my labia. The flesh was maddeningly sensitive. The slippery wetness allowed my finger to glide easily against the bare flesh. Instead of touching myself I wanted to reach up and stroke the thick girth of his bulge.
‘If you’ve got more than a hundred available perhaps we could do more?’ I suggested.
‘Such as?’ Peter croaked.
I slid my finger into the wetness of my hole. The sensation was not devastating but it did send a long warm tingle throbbing deep through my sex. When I slipped the finger out, I stood up and touched it against Peter’s lip.
He closed his eyes as though in an ecstasy of bliss.
‘For two hundred pounds I’ll let you take me up the ass.’
Peter groaned.
‘For this much,’ I began. I scooped up the money and squeezed it in one fist. The sensation of the crumpled notes against my palm was a glorious spur to my excitement. I felt light-headed as I realised I was holding more than a hundred pounds of his money. I tossed the five-pound note back onto the table and held up the hundred pounds. ‘For this much, I’ll let you screw me for the next thirty minutes.’
‘Are you serious, Ma–?’
I silenced his words with a kiss. ‘When we’re playing this game you can call me Magenta. If you don’t want to call me Magenta you can call me Maggie. But you must never call me by my real name when we’re having sex for money. Do you understand?’
He shrugged instantaneous acceptance of this request. I doubt he understood the condition. I’m still not sure I understand why I made the distinction. But the important thing was that Peter didn’t question my demand.
‘Whatever you want, Magenta.’
The name sounded strangely forced, and that added to my excitement. Peter was paying to have sex. He was going to screw someone called Magenta. And I was going to get to watch the experience and take the money afterwards.
My heart raced.
And then I was taking the initiative and pushing myself against him.
His hand went clumsily to my breast. I allowed him to fumble against me for a moment and then I pushed him away. Unfastening the buttons for him, I opened my blouse and pulled my right breast free from the cup of the bra.
The nipple was stiff and sensitive to his touch.
And when Peter began to tease it between his fingertips, I came close to climaxing from the thrill of his caresses.
Our mouths met. He kissed with a slobbering need that would have been unappealing if he hadn’t given me one hundred pounds. Because I could still smell traces of the money in my nostrils, his over-enthusiastic kisses were just another spur to my burgeoning excitement.
And, when he lowered his mouth to my nipple and began to suckle against me, I told him he was doing it very well. I patted the back of his head. And I stared at the money on the table with avid appreciation.
The sex was brutally swift.
I had a pack of condoms in my purse and I rolled one over his erection. He was thick and hard – almost pulsing to my touch as I slid the rubber down his shaft. I worried that I might squeeze the come from him if I rolled it too hard.
But Peter found a moment’s inner strength and resisted the urge to climax long enough for me to drag him into his bedroom and straddle him on the bed.
‘I can’t believe you and I are doing this, Ma– Magenta.’
He’d almost called me by my name. His last-moment correction made me smile. And that was when I finally managed to slide his thick shaft between my sopping pussy lips. I don’t think he’d fully filled me before my inner muscles were clenching and convulsing around him.
And, as soon as my orgasm had taken hold, I felt him thrash and pulse and climax as though he was retaliating.
I left him alone on the bed whilst I disposed of the condom and then went to retrieve my money. I counted it whilst I lay on the bed next to him. Four twenties and two tens. I’d also picked up the spare five pounds because I figured I’d earned the small bonus.
‘Have you done this before?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘No.’ I sniffed the money and, without thinking, added, ‘But I’ll be happy to do it again and again as long as you can find the funds.’
He nodded. ‘But next time,’ he said, ‘I want to do this at a hotel so it’s more convincing.’
I nodded agreement, inhaling the fragrance on the notes he’d given me. ‘I can live with that,’ I agreed. ‘Although I might increase my prices for hotel work.’
He thought about this for a moment and then smiled. ‘If I’m paying more money, I’ll expect you to behave like a real slut.’
‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘I’ll never behave like a slut. Just a whore.’
He seemed puzzled by the distinction.
Rather than explaining, I kissed him. ‘Let’s negotiate money,’ I purred. ‘Then I’ll tell you what you can expect when we’re next in a hotel together.’
* * *
3. Be a whore – not a slut.
I still see Peter on a regular basis. He doesn’t know it but I’m exclusively his. I keep increasing my prices for him because I need the money and he can afford it. Also, paying for it makes him appreciate what he’s getting. And, whilst his demands are becoming more exciting and outrageous every time we get together, I’m determined to make him pay more for each new kink he introduces to our sex life. I’m keen to let him know that I’m his whore: not his slut. And one day I think he’ll appreciate the difference.
A Red Carnation
Monica
