My Wife, The Escort 3 (My Wife, The Escort Season 1) Read online

  by Victoria Kasari

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  © Copyright Victoria Kasari 2015

  The right of Victoria Kasari to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, events, companies, organizations or products is purely coincidental.

  Cover characters are models. Images licensed from (and copyright remains with) the photographers/owners as follows: background - Volokhatiuk / Depositphotos, lipstick mark - Belchonock / Depositphotos, couple - Periodimages.com

  This book contains explicit material and is for adults only. All characters portrayed are intended to be over 18 years of age, even where not explicitly stated.

  Also by Victoria Kasari on Kindle

  Many also available in paperback

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  Cuckolded - My Wife on the Oil Rig

  Cuckolded in College

  Cuckolded by My Boss

  Cuckolded - Watching My Wife

  Cuckolded at the College Reunion 1 - 3

  Watching My Wife in Jamaica

  Female POV stories in which women live out their group sex fantasies

  In the Sauna - Linda and the Football Team

  Halloween Hooker Costume

  Blurbs at the end of this book!

  Can’t find a story? http://victoriakasari.com

  Everything was different, now.

  The first time the realization hit was as soon as I woke up, the morning after Harriet’s first client. I opened my eyes and looked at the unfamiliar ceiling and remembered what she’d done. And immediately, my morning wood turned hard as steel.

  We had the best morning sex we’d ever had. Then we did it again, when I saw her walk naked out of the shower and couldn’t resist grabbing her.

  The next shock was when I noticed her staring at her purse as we were packing up to go. “What?” I asked eventually.

  She slowly turned around and showed me a fan of ten hundred dollar bills. I’d forgotten about the money part. The idea of her selling herself had been a huge part of the turn on, but it hadn’t clicked that there’d be actual money in our hands. I fingered the bills. They were clean and crisp and, somehow, that actually made the whole thing seem dirtier. The idea that she’d traded her body for cold, hard cash.

  She sneaked out of the hotel first, then I checked out on my own. We figured it was better to keep up the illusion that we weren’t a couple, just in case Ben—her client from the night before—or anyone else saw us. We might want to use the same hotel again.

  God. We were going to do it again!

  That week at work, neither of us could stop thinking about it. I was bouncing around like a kid on their birthday. At the architect’s office, my partner, Aaron, asked what the hell was with me.

  I liked Aaron. We’d only been working together a year or so, since my old partner took a new job. He was about five years younger than me and a real gym nut, hitting the weights and treadmill every morning before he came in.

  I just grinned and hinted that I’d gotten some the night before.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he said, his voice gently mocking. “With you married guys, that makes for a red letter day.”

  I threw an eraser at him. The lucky SOB probably had a different girl in his bed every night. Young, good-looking, a cool job...he could pick and choose. It almost made me jealous...almost. Whoever he did wind up with, she wouldn’t be Harriet. The irony was that, even though she was a few years older than him, the few times they’d met, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She was that sort of woman—I wanted her, he wanted her, all guys wanted her.

  ***

  Harriet and I discussed plans. It was almost funny, how seriously we took it. Harriet actually took notes, swearing she’d burn the paper afterwards.

  We agreed the hotel had been perfect and we couldn’t see any reason not to use it again. The plan of Harriet going down to the bar and bringing a guy back up had worked well.

  “We should do it earlier, though,” Harriet said. “There were plenty of guys already there when we got down there. I think I could show up earlier and still get a”—she flushed—”date.”

  “Why mess with the formula, though? We don’t need to get to bed early.”

  She glanced away and then back, a sure sign that she was embarrassed.

  “What?!”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I just feel like we should start early. I mean, maybe the next guy will take longer, or want to talk afterwards or something.”

  I was sure there was some other reason, but she clammed up. I couldn’t see any harm in it, though, so I agreed we’d start earlier.

  “And I’ll need a new dress,” she said.

  I frowned. “What was wrong with the dress?”

  She gave me a look. “You really don’t get women at all, sometimes, do you?”

  “But we started this because we were short on cash.”

  She held up the thousand dollars and that sort of put it into perspective. And then she sealed the deal. “I work in advertising,” she reminded me. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you gotta spend money to make money.”

  I felt my cock throb. This was showcasing her body, signaling her availability. I ran a finger down her arm, feeling myself getting horny again. “When are we doing this?”

  “How about Thursday? Same hotel, same day, just a little earlier.”

  I nodded. Thursday couldn’t come soon enough.

  “How do I look?” asked Harriet.

  It was Thursday and I was sitting on the edge of the bed in our hotel room, staring at my wife. Completely unable to come up with an answer.

  I’d thought that the red dress she’d worn the week before was stunning, but this one...it took my breath away. It was bottle-green and made of a stretchy, soft material that hugged her ass and thighs and finished well above her knees. Unlike the red one, there was no slit up the side, but the shorter hem revealed plenty of pale thigh. She wasn’t wearing stockings, this time. She didn’t need them. Her legs were going to get more than enough attention thanks to the boots.

  The boots!

  They were knee length with a high heel. The matt black leather made them look classy, not slutty, and I didn’t want to know how much they’d cost. Then again, at a thousand dollars each time we did this, it was still a relatively small investment. They gave her a whole different look to the stockings and heels of the week before. She still looked classy, but now she looked younger, more fun-loving. Up for anything. My cock hardened in my pants as I thought about what men might infer from that look.

  The dress showed off her slender waist before flowing over her full, teardrop breasts. The neckline was high cut, to balance out the short hem, but there was still a tempting scoop of cleavage on show. Her long blonde hair fell in gleaming waves over her shoulders, catching the light and making her seem even more soft and fe
minine. With her eyes done out in dark, smoky eyeshadow to appear even bigger and her lips a dark cherry red, she looked a delicious mix of delicate and sensual. A woman you lusted after as soon as you saw her, innocent enough that you longed to corrupt her yet sexy enough that her smile promised untold delights.

  I thought very seriously about calling the whole night off and just throwing her back on the bed and ravishing her. But the idea of watching her again was too much to turn down.

  “Well?!” she asked, giving me a spin.

  I shook my head. “Amazing,” I told her. I stood up, grabbed her waist and kissed her long and deep. She chuckled. As she moved back from the kiss, I could see the playfulness in her eyes. The week before, she’d gotten over her fear. Now she was hyped up and ready, almost high on the excitement. It worried me a little—what we were doing wasn’t without its dangers. If she got reckless, we might get in over our heads.

  But I’d be there the whole time. What could go wrong?

  She checked her purse for condoms and then looked at her watch. “I should get down there,’ she said. She still seemed to be determined to start early, this time, and wouldn’t say why. I put it down to her just being eager.

  I kissed her again. “Still sure about this?”

  She nodded quickly. “We need the money.”

  My eyes widened and I clutched at her upper arms. “Wait! We don’t—Is that why you’re doing it?! I thought—”

  She shook her head, flushing. “No. I just—” She squirmed.

  “You like the idea that that’s the reason,” I said slowly.

  She nodded.

  That kind of made sense. The money aspect removed the guilt because it stopped it feeling like cheating. And of course it added an extra kinky twist.

  “Is that weird?” she asked quietly.

  “No. Not at all.” I thought for a second and then leaned close. “After all, you have to do this. You don’t have any choice. Harriet, the poor wife, forced to spread her legs for strangers.” I was almost whispering it in her ear. “All those debts mounting up, and the only way you can possibly pay them is to whore yourself.” I heard her catch her breath, and saw that she was squeezing her thighs together. “God, how awful, poor Harriet, no choice, better get down there and find a man who’ll pay for your body so you can keep the debt collectors at bay—”

  She suddenly clutched at my arm. “God, I’m so wet right now.”

  I held her and chuckled softly in her ear.

  “Are you thinking you married a complete pervert?” she asked.

  “Nope. I’m thinking I married the greatest woman in the world.”

  She smiled and headed for the door. In just minutes, she’d be downstairs, waiting for some guy to chat her up. I ran my eyes down her body, imagining what would be going through the guy’s head as he talked to her. God, I wished I could talk to him. Wouldn’t that be incredible, to hear him talking about my wife?

  That’s when it hit me.

  “Wait,” I said. “I have an idea.”

  ***

  Five minutes later, I sauntered nonchalantly into the bar area. Just as before, my wife was already sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of wine and waiting for a man to notice her. Just as before, I ordered a beer and took a seat in the corner where I could watch.

  There was one important difference. This time, there’d be an extra step in the process. My heart thumped harder as I thought about it.

  The bar was already full—Harriet had been right about it being okay to start early, though I still couldn’t figure out why she wanted to. This time, it didn’t take long for a man to sit down next to her. He was a little older than the first guy—under forty, I estimated, but only just. Probably almost a decade older than Harriet. He had some gray mixed into his black hair, but seemed to be in good shape. He sat casually on his seat and seemed to have the same relaxed confidence the first guy had and I wondered how many times he’d done this before. How many other escorts had he slept with?

  Not other escorts, I corrected myself. Harriet isn’t really an escort. This is just a game.

  Harriet had turned to face him and brushed her hair back from her face, revealing the pale elegance of her neck. I could see the guy’s eyes flick over her breasts, her slender waist...and her pert, ripe ass. As they talked, he leaned in closer, as close as a boyfriend on a date. Then his hand dropped to her leg. I felt my chest tighten. The sight of his hand there, so possessive, made the anger flare up inside me...but it made my cock harden against my thigh as well. He was already fucking her, in his mind.

  And then my wife got up and left. I knew that she’d told him she had to use the bathroom and that she’d be right back, because that’s what we’d arranged. And I knew she’d wait a few minutes in the bathroom before returning, because we’d arranged that, too.

  This was my opportunity.

  I drained my beer and wandered over to the bar. I stood right next to my wife’s stool—if she’d still been there, she would have been right between her client and me. “She your girlfriend?” I asked the man.

  He looked up, startled. I wondered if I’d blown it, if he’d be embarrassed and hightail it out of there. But instead, he studied me, getting the measure of me, and then grinned and said, “Nope. She’s, ah...working.” He obviously didn’t see anything wrong in it, or didn’t care what a stranger thought of him.

  I acted as if I was embarrassed at the revelation—I figured that if I acted like I was caught off-balance, he’d relax. “Oh! Really? Wow. I didn’t know...I mean, I didn’t know working, um...women looked like that.”

  He grinned wider. “Well, we’re not talking about three-dollar hookers, in a place like this. Do you know what a girl like that costs?” He was enjoying himself, now. “Go ahead, guess.”

  I played dumb. “Five hundred bucks?”

  “Try a thousand.”

  I let my jaw drop. I could feel my cock throbbing in my pants. This was everything I’d wanted—he was discussing her as if she was a real escort, one of the many he’d sampled. “Wow. And for that—”

  He leaned close. “For that, I get to do anything I want to her. And I intend to.”

  That should have been a warning, but I was too horny to really process it. The bartender finally showed up and I bought a beer, but hung around to drink it instead of going back to my seat. The guy seemed happy to share his expertise.

  “Her name’s Kimberly,” he said. “Probably still paying off her college debt. A lot of these girls are fresh out of college—I figure she’s twenty-four, twenty-five.”

  I couldn’t help grinning inside. Harriet would be delighted he was taking five years off her age.

  “They get their first job, right at the bottom of the ladder and it’s a wake-up call,” the man said. “They aren’t making the money they thought they would, and they got bills to pay, and then some friend clues them in to the fact they got a gold mine between their legs. And the next thing you know, she’s on her back on a bed.”

  Part of me wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. I was ready to bet that he’d been polite and charming to her face. But another part of me was delighting in it. There was something about the way he lusted after her. She wasn’t an advertising exec, to him, and certainly not someone’s wife. She was like some precious gem, something to be coveted and eventually bought. “Do you see the same...ah...escort each time?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I like to get a different one every time.” He glanced at my wedding ring. “See, you won’t remember this, being married, but there’s something about fucking a brand new woman. Especially one as hot as her.”

  I sort of knew what he was talking about. With my college girlfriends, the very first time we had sex had always been the best. That mystery of finding out exactly what her pussy looked like, or how her nipples looked when they were hard, or what she felt like, inside.

  I suddenly wondered if it was the same for Harriet. Pretending to be an escort let her experience
the first time with a man over and over, something she couldn’t do with a lover.

  For the client, though, I had a feeling it was different. He seemed to view my wife more as a trophy to be bagged. “Do you do this a lot?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Couple of times a month. Only if I see a girl I really like. When I saw this girl, Kimberly, I had to have her.”

  That sent a hot throb through me. He’d seen my wife and he had to have her. But his next words changed everything.

  He leaned close again, smirking. “Girl like that, you just know she could suck a goddamn football through a hosepipe.”

  I felt myself return his grin, but it was only surface deep. Inside, I was twisting, lust and anger mixing together. God, who did he think he was, talking about her like that? And yet, at the same time, the crudeness was a turn on. Harriet did have gorgeous, soft lips and the boots made her look supremely sexual. I glanced around the bar. Probably every guy there had fantasized about her on her knees in front of them.

  At that moment, the guy punched me lightly in the arm. “Get out of here. She’s coming back. I got to get her upstairs and plow her a whole new furrow.”

  I quickly moved away and watched as Harriet rejoined him. I could see the way his eyes crawled over her legs and especially her ass as she perched herself on the bar stool. I thought about what he’d said about her sucking him. Should I warn her, somehow? What if she didn’t want to do that? She’d given me blowjobs, but a stranger?

  And what was that other thing he’d said, right at the end? Plow her a whole new furrow? That made no sense. She couldn’t have convinced him she was a virgin, could she?

  I saw Harriet nod to the guy—damn, I should have asked him his name!—and quickly finish her drink. I had to hurry to make it out of the bar ahead of them. Fortunately, Harriet deliberately took her time. I caught sight of her reflection in one of the bar’s chromed pillars and she was leading her client by the hand, a step or so in front of him. The high-heeled boots turned every step into a hypnotic swing of her hips and from his position behind her, the view of her ass swaying from side to side must have been glorious. She caught my eye in the reflection and winked at me.