Desperate Measures Ch. 02

"How will you be able to protect me without tipping anyone off?" I said.

"You're a smart girl," Owen said, flashing me his million-dollar smile. "You ask good questions. I can see why you're so taken with her, Clayton. You're right, I can't ask Vice to back off on you specifically, but I can keep you informed of what's coming as far as raids go, whether you're under investigation – which you are not, yet – and whether one of your clients is an undercover agent. In my position, I know everything that goes on in the department."

"One more thing," I said. "Do you have any unusual fetishes, anything that might involve rough stuff?"

"You have my word as an officer and a gentleman, and Clayton can vouch for me," Owen said. "I have a strong sexual appetite, but I'm not into pain. I'm a lover, not a fighter, although I can fight when I have to. Kate, I've been lonely since my divorce, but my ex-wife burned me pretty good as far as relationships go. I just need a reminder that I'm still a man, and if you're half as good as Clayton says you are, you're going to be just what I need."

There was such a plaintive quality to his last statement, almost a plea, that he got to me. And, I'm damn glad he did, because ... well, let me tell you about the first time I went to his apartment.

We decided to set up our meetings for 1 o'clock in the afternoon on Saturdays, and I was to dress casually, so as to not arouse any suspicion that I was what I was, a hooker meeting a customer.

Owen's place was in a high-rise building, so there wasn't much chance of prying eyes seeing me come and go. But we weren't taking any chances, so I parked my car in the building's garage and took the elevator to his floor.

I was nervous, because I still wasn't quite sure what to expect. But he greeted me warmly and led me into his apartment. I walked over to the window and gazed out at the city that was spread out before us.

This was the city I'd come to love, my adopted hometown, but it was also the city where fate had dealt me a losing hand, where the love of my life had been stripped of his manhood, forcing me to sell myself so we could stay together as a family.

Owen was cool; he wasn't in any hurry. As much as anyone, I think he truly understood the dilemma I was living with, and he didn't push me, but let things flow at an easy pace.

We spent the first hour just talking, becoming acquainted, while I sipped on a couple of glasses of wine. He was quite well traveled, he was a fascinating conversationalist and I found myself growing to like him a lot.

Eventually, the conversation petered out, and he slid over to me on the sofa. He drew me to him and we kissed, slow and sensual. I felt his hands sweeping over me, and my arousal began to grow from his touch.

I returned the favor, running my hands over his hard body, and down between his legs, where his cock was bulging. Our tongues were doing a dance of lust in each other's mouths, and our lips were on overdrive as we sucked at each other.

Finally, we broke apart, catching our breath. Owen looked at me with his sky-blue eyes casting an intense glow.

"Shall we?" he said, as he stood and offered me his hand.

We walked to his bedroom, and leisurely stripped. There was no dance of seduction, no strip show, just two adults getting ready for an afternoon romp.

Owen whistled when he got his first look at my naked body – the modest breasts, the long slender legs, the well trimmed bush that framed my pink pussy, the firm butt – and I nodded in appreciation as I swept my eyes over his body. He was hard and muscled, without an ounce of fat anywhere.

The only part of his body that wasn't absolutely perfect was his cock, or so I thought at the time. In fact, I was about to learn an important lesson in the relative meaninglessness of cock size.

In the four years that I screwed for a living, I found that the optimum size for a man was about 7 inches. That was enough to fill me good without becoming painful. Anything up to about 8 1/2 was tolerable, but anything over that was difficult.

Not only were the really big cocks painful, but almost invariably the men they were attached to had egos in proportion to the size of their cocks.

Guys would flop out a 9 or 10-inch dick – and I did see a few 10-inchers – and expect me to just swoon in abject lust. And most of the time, they had little control and less regard for my pleasure.

What's more, I discovered that men who were a little smaller than average tended to work harder to compensate. They were better with their mouths and better with their hands, and Owen Hester definitely fell into that category.

Fact is, I routinely got more pleasure in one afternoon with Owen and his 5-inch dick than I did with all of the 10-inchers combined. My God, the man knew how to fuck.

Out of all the men I've ever had, the only one who was in Owen's class was Brett. My husband had a very nice cock, and he knew what to do with it, plus he had the advantage of true love on his side.

But Owen surpassed all the rest, as I found out that first afternoon.

We lay on his bed, kissing and running our hands over each other. I gasped as his fingers found my sex and he began to play a symphony on my clit. He stroked me expertly, then slid two fingers in my juicy pie, while I slowly jacked his rock-hard cock.

We just seemed to flow together, him on his back and me on top, my legs straddling his head. He pulled my hips down, so that my pussy was planted firmly on his mouth, and I got my first taste of Owen's expert tongue on my twat.

Owen had a long tongue that quickly had me squirming, and his thick moustache was making my clit sing. As I slid my creamy cunt over his mouth, I threw my hair back and licked up and down on the shaft of his cock, then up until I was over the head. I opened my mouth wide and filled my mouth with his cock.

I took every bit of him in one delicious plunge, and I was gratified to hear his muffled groan in my pussy.

I was able to suck all of Owen's cock with no problem, and I gave him every bit of my newfound expertise. I worked my lips over his rigid shaft and rolled my tongue over the sensitive places under the crown.

We were soaring to a peak of passion, but as Owen wormed his lips and tongue over my spastic pussy, I pulled my mouth off his cock and let the feelings wash over me.

Owen just chuckled, in a seductive way that sent chills all over me. He redoubled his work on my cunt, and I squeezed my eyes shut as a huge climax came to a head. I managed to keep a slow stroking rhythm on his cock, but that was about it as the feeling of pleasure exploded through my body.

I twitched and shuddered as my climax ripped through me from the tongue-lashing I'd just gotten from Owen. As the climax finally worked its way out of me, I bent over and pounced on Owen's cock. I vacuumed his throbbing hardness into my mouth, while jacking him with my hand.

I wanted to taste his cock, wanted to feel his eruption, feel his hot jets of cum hit the back of my throat. Owen idly fiddled with my juicy cunt as I sucked his cock hard and fast.

It didn't take long before I got what I wanted. I felt Owen's body stiffen under me, then his hips jerked upward, followed a second or two by the swelling of his cock as it exploded in my mouth. I kept my throat working, swallowing his thick, spicy cum as it burst from the end of his cock.

I was gratified to hear Owen's satisfied groan as I milked his cock with my hand and my lips. I had to admit, it was a very erotic feeling to please a man like that.

We were lying back relaxing when Owen looked at me very seriously. He had a finger playing lightly in my pussy, and I was doing a slow simmer from the way he was stroking me.

"Kate, can I ask for something special?" he said.

"Sure, I'm yours to do whatever you want, within reason," I said.

"My wife – my ex-wife – never let me have her ass," he said. "She thought it was disgusting, and as a result, it was always something I wanted badly. I mean, I know I could just take it from you. But that's not the way I want to do things with you."

"Owen, I told you, anything you want and it's yours," I said. "All I ask is that you get me good and hot for it."

By then, I'd had men fuck my ass a number of times, and I'd accepted it as part of the job. Some were better than others at it, but there was never any question about denying any man my ass.

Owen got up, went to the bedside table and pulled out a tube of lubricant. I got on my knees, with my butt slightly elevated. Owen knelt behind me, and I felt his hot breath on my crotch. His tongue slid up and down my slippery sex, boring into my hole.

I'm not sure how many times he worked his tongue up and down my cunt, but it must have been about a half-dozen times before he made a swipe up to my pink anus. He circled his tongue over my pink starfish, then pulled back and eased a finger past my sphincter.

He gently massaged the inside of my rectum with his middle finger for a minute or so, then bent down and licked me again, and this time he pushed his stiff tongue past my increasingly-relaxed hole.

I groaned in lust as I reveled in the sensations of Owen's tongue as it wormed its way wetly into my ass. I could tell Owen was getting excited about the prospect of fucking my ass, but he was still taking his time, getting my lust worked up to a fever pitch.

I gripped the sheets as another orgasm came to a quick frothy head, but before I could get there, Owen pulled his mouth away. I moaned in frustration, but I wasn't deprived long.

Owen quickly replaced his tongue with a finger coated in jelly, and I growled in response. I raised up slightly and pinched my nipples as he began to finger-fuck my ass at a brisker pace than before. I gasped as the sizzling sensations radiated from my breasts all through my body, mingling with the mounting glow of lust from Owen's powerful work in my ass.

Again, I climbed ever closer to a climax, and again Owen pulled away at the last second.

"God, Owen, please, make me come," I pleaded.

"In good time, my dear," he chuckled softly. "You're going to come, don't worry, and when you do..."

I moaned then, because I knew I was about to be taken on a ride to nirvana by a man who knew what he was doing with a woman.

Sure enough, Owen quickly resumed finger-fucking my ass, this time with two fingers. He pressed the index and middle finger of his hand into my ass and worked them hard back and forth in my buttery rectum, while the other two fingers wormed their way into my pussy.

I looked back, and saw that Owen had an intense look of almost reverent lust on his face as he slowly worked his lube-slick cock with the hand that wasn't in me.

Just about the time I finally reached an orgasmic peak, I finally couldn't stand any more.

"Please, sweet Jesus, Owen, fuck my ass," I wailed. "Put that beautiful cock in my butt and fuck the shit out of me."

Owen groaned himself as he pulled his hand away. I was so far gone; I reached back and spread my butt cheeks to give him a wider target. I'd always been slightly ambivalent about anal sex, even with Brett. But now I wanted Owen to fuck my ass like I'd never wanted it done before.

I felt the rubbery head of Owen's cock as it circled the outside of my anus, and I panted while I willed myself to relax as much as possible. It seemed like time stood still as he added subtle pressure until suddenly the head popped past my sphincter.

Owen and I both groaned heavily as his cock slid slowly but steadily into my ass. It was absolutely a perfect fit. He was fat enough to fill me good, but not so long that he hurt me with his size.

We quickly got into a passionate rhythm; his cock pumping back and forth in my ass, and my hips working to keep as much of his throbbing cock as I could in my twitching rectum.

It didn't take long before my head was pressed into the bed, with my fists full of the sheet, as a huge orgasm exploded violently through my body. I writhed on the bed, on my knees, as Owen fucked my ass relentlessly, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

I thought he'd go on and come, but he had other ideas.

Just about the time I was climbing the ladder to yet another orgasm, Owen pulled his cock out of my ass. I whimpered as I felt the emptiness of my rectum. But I wasn't empty long.

Owen took my waist and flipped me onto my back. I spread my long legs as wide as I could, and he obliged me by hooking my knees with his elbows. That had the effect of opening me up wide – and I was already cored open really well. I kept my legs high in the air as he pushed his cock back into my waiting ass.

"I want to watch your face as you come," he panted. "You are so beautiful, and I want to see that glow."

I was more than halfway there, as my head lolled on the bed in abject surrender to his pounding lust. In this position, he could really fuck my ass hard and deep, but again, not so deep that it hurt. I mean, he was exquisite with the way he could use his equipment, and I responded by thrashing on the bed, moaning and gasping as my third – or was it my fourth? – climax burst through me.

I was hyperventilating as Owen began to pick up speed, and I could tell from his face, the way he was huffing and puffing, that he was close.

"Come ... on, baby!" I stammered. "Come ... come ... with ... me! Fill ... your ... whore ... GAAHH! Yeah, fuckme, fuckme, fuckme, fuuuuuuuuck meeeeee!"

I was absolutely gone with lust as the mini-orgasms began popping off in my body like a string of firecrackers that's been set off all at once. Through a red haze I saw Owen squeeze his eyes shut, seconds before I felt his cock balloon in my ass, seconds before he spewed a barrage of hard jets of cum deep into my bowels.

We thrashed together on his bed as we spent ourselves in, on and around each other. Owen collapsed onto my heaving chest, our sweat-covered bodies sliding together as he spit out the final afterbursts of semen into my clenching hole.

Slowly, we floated back to some semblance of consciousness, until Owen finally rolled off my body and lay back next to me.

"I think this is the beginning of a very nice partnership," Owen gasped.

Indeed it was. I'm not sure whether anything ever was said, but I never had a bit of trouble from the police, and very little trouble with bad guys.

On the rare occasions when I did get stiffed by a client, or did get roughed up a little – and it did happen, in spite of my precautions – those clients never got a chance to repeat their offense.

It took me about 18 months to get caught up with the bills, and that included squirreling money back for taxes and for a rainy day. I was taught at an early age the value of thrift, and I didn't abandon those lessons when I started making a lot of money.

And I made a LOT of money.

When it came time to do my taxes after that first year, I was astounded to learn that I'd grossed over $170,000. If you think that figure is excessive, do the math.

That first year, I worked a total of 45 weeks, taking off two weeks for a vacation to visit my family, a week off right before Christmas and a few odd weeks through the year when Brett was hospitalized. I worked an average of five nights a week, which added up to around 200 working days, and I averaged right at $1,000 a night.

Terry helped me set up some ways to avoid paying an outrageous amount of taxes, but I still paid out about 30 percent of my income to the IRS.

I was on pins and needles every year at tax time, worried that I'd get a call from an auditor who would want details about my business, but I never did. I guess as long as I paid, they didn't care too much how I made my money.

I wish I could say that everything hummed along smoothly, but that wasn't the case. One night toward the end of my second year as a whore, I came home to find Lovena, the night nurse at the time, sitting at the kitchen table.

Usually, the night nurse stayed downstairs in the den with Brett, reading, sometimes dozing next to the monitors, but either way, I never saw her when I came in from working. But it was apparent that she'd been waiting for me, and she had a very disapproving look in her eyes.

"Sit down, Miz Summers, please," she said.

"Can't I get changed first?" I said.

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, I was tired from a particularly strenuous night of sex, and all I really wanted was to get in the shower and wash away my sin, the way I did every night, then get into some comfortable clothes to get ready for bed.

"I think it would be best if we got this out of the way now," Lovena said.

I sat down then, and she told me that Brett had been asking her about my job. She said he was really puzzled about it, like he couldn't quite put together what I was doing for a living.

"He sees the way you dress when you leave here," she said. "He's brain-damaged, but not so brain-damaged that he can't see that you're dressed up awfully nice and sexy to go to work. I haven't told him anything, because I don't feel like it's my place to. But I'm not stupid. I know what sex smells like, and I know you don't get that smell and you don't make the kind of money you're making unless you're whoring. Am I not right?"

I just dropped my head into my hands and pinched my eyes with my fingers, trying to quell the sudden headache that had just sprung up. I tried to explain my situation, how I had dreaded the idea of putting Brett in a nursing home, how I was drowning in debt, how starved I was for affection, for a human touch.

But it all sounded very lame, like I was making excuses. Lovena looked at me evenly, then her features softened somewhat.

"Miz Summers ... Kate," she said slowly. "I think you're basically a good person, and I believe you're doing what you think you have to do. And, maybe there is no other way. But I'm telling you, Mr. Brett is going to figure it out pretty soon, and I can't predict his reaction. You need to find a way to tell him. It'll be hard, but it'll be harder if it comes from someone else, someone like me, because I'm not going to lie to him. If he comes right out and asks me if you're hooking for a living, I'm going to tell him the truth. Better it come from you, than from me."

I had been dreading that moment for slightly less than two years, and now it had come. I had taken a sort of don't ask-don't tell approach to Brett's possible reaction to my job; that as long as he didn't ask, I wouldn't tell.

And, truthfully, I wasn't sure whether Brett's diminished mental capacity would allow him to comprehend what I was having to do to keep him home and to keep that home paid for.

But it seemed that Brett was curious at the very least, trying to work it out in his mind what kind of job I had. I was really trying to walk a fine line, because Brett's mind was something like that of a child in so many respects, yet I couldn't be sure that he didn't understand adult concepts like prostitution.

I told Lovena that I would handle it, and asked her to come in about an hour later than usual the next day, to give me a chance to sit down alone with Brett and break the news to him that his loving wife was a whore.

I never felt so dirty in all my life.

As long as I live I will never forget the look in his eyes when I told him what I really did for a living. I don't know, maybe he'd already figured it out, and with the slow way his mind worked, he was in a kind of denial about it.

"What did we always say?" I said to him in as soothing a tone as I could muster. "Tell the truth, no matter how hard it hurts. Well, this truth hurts. But, I can't see any other way. Would you rather be here or in a nursing home? Would you rather have me and Ashley around you all the time, or a bunch of faceless, nameless nurses? Do you think I like doing this to you? God, Brett, I love you and I'd do anything if you could be whole again. But I can't. There's no going back. Not now. All we can do is stay together as much as we can, and if I have to be a whore for that to happen, then that's the way it has to be."