Chapter 6 – Part 3, Expensive Prostitute

This is chapter 6, part 3 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 6 – Part 3, Expensive Prostitute

Everyone at the events knew María was a high-class whore except María. The women that treated her so graciously when she walked next to the Pol snubbed or insulted her in the powder room. A few women tried to seduce her among the toilets. She was tempted – they kissed her so sweetly, and she imagined their mouths in her vulva. She began to detect the difference between wives, aides, and escorts, and realized even the other escorts often snubbed her.

There was definitely a racial pecking order of the escorts at the events, and the Hispanics were next to the bottom, just above the American Indians. The statuesque blue-eyed blonds occupied the top followed by Blacks and Asians. The protocol on the reception floor was generously equitable for all races, but the snootery appeared back in the powder room. I doubted it was purely a racial ordering – individual characteristics of the women surely played their part. An exceptionally attractive woman like María might be snubbed just from envy. Among all the women I saw in the news videos and photos, María was the most exotic and erotic. And she also looked like the easiest fuck of the group.

The men were as bad as the women, in their actions if not by their words. By escorting the Pol, María became a hot property. A fierce competition developed among the men to see who could get their hands on her. They pumped-up her vanity expertly while backing her into empty conference rooms and alcoves for gropes and kisses. Her dress was sometimes pulled up as high as her breasts while they groped her bottom and pinched her nipples. María said only the skin-tight panties kept their hands out of her vulva. The Pol’s rule against other men touching her panties only applied to husbands and boyfriends – politicians were permitted full contact. This brotherhood of politicians was deeply incestuous – she received a handful of cards with private phone numbers and pleas to contact them at each event.

María learned her panties held another secret, a secret apparently known to few men at these events, and unknown to the Pol. A design feature of the panties created a valley between the labia of her vulva, and continued on behind deep into the valley between the buttocks. These men, after trapping her against the wall, spread her legs, and ran their fingertips through the valley from the top of her vulva, underneath, between her butt cheeks. Then back to her front, repeated 3-4 times. She said it felt like the panty itself moved against her, with the result she became wet, hot, and craving to fuck. She told the Pol, who immediately verified the feature. These same men who rubbed her panty and their wives sat with María and the Pol at the dinners afterward, faces innocent. The Pol rubbed her panty under the table, her wetness released her pheromones, excited the men, and excited María. By the time they headed for the hotel, she climbed all over him.

Thereafter, the Pol rubbed her panty under tables whenever they sat together. He kept her in constant arousal, tried to bring her to orgasm even in public places, and when she couldn’t stand it anymore, she opened his pants and pumped his penis, or penis-sucked him if privacy permitted. Now she knew the reason the Hooker Shop supplied her with multiple panties.

While María was out of the house, I examined the contaminated panty, the one I touched. I could see no reason or mechanism for this, and I decided it must be psychosomatic. I looked closer and thought the embroidered loops might create a vibration when rubbed. And a ridged bulge in the fabric was positioned immediately over the clitoris button. On a whim, I stretched the panty seam over my leg and jiggled it. A small vibration. Psychosomatic or not, the panties were a weapon designed to drive men and women into extreme desire. And they were a fantastic tool to excite María, as if she needed extra stimulation.

María said only one woman at the events treated her decently, curiously, the second most powerful woman in California politics, the wife of the senate president. The 2nd-Lady swatted away the vultures and escorted María through the cat house of the powder room.

The 2nd-Lady asked María about her relationship to the Pol, and warned her about marrying him. María would drop from high-class call-girl to cheap whore as the Pol pimped her out for political favors. She paused when she said that, laughed cynically, and said that’d be great – María might replace her as the cheapest slut on Capitol Hill. The 2nd-Lady said she fucked every important politician in California, many lesser officials, and even a few federals. It was all part of the political horse trading – her mouth and vagina for a vote here and there. She wasn’t bitter, it was her price for sitting atop the political social heap.

Her husband, the senate president, knew she fucked for favors and votes but said nothing. He never asked this favor of her, but made the private relaxation room adjoining his office exclusive to her. He didn’t care about the sex – he was 25 years older than she and had been impotent for several years. He understood his wife needed sex, and he was grateful she understood his political needs.

The 2nd-Lady said the sex was good, not great, and was always one-off. The men made up in excitement what they lack in technique. She especially enjoyed the junior senators from the opposition party. They were totally steamed to fuck her a few feet away from where this icon of power sat – they thought it was easily worth a few million of the taxpayers’ money to cuckold the top liberal in congress through the vagina of his wife. She played them for fools, a label that was a compliment for many of them.

María was uncertain about what ‘high-class call-girl’ meant. The 2nd-Lady, astonished by María’s naivety, blurted-out,

“Expensive prostitute”.

María was offended, and protested she was not a prostitute. The 2nd-Lady replied,

“Of course you are. I am too. All the beautiful women you see here are prostitutes for something. I trade sex for votes and favors, you trade for money, others trade for lifestyle, we’re all hookers.”

“I’m not paid anything to be here, I’m his escort.”

“He gives you no money? I know you have sex with him afterward.”

“Yes, I fuck him, he’s a great lover. He gives me gifts but never any money.”

“What are the gifts?”

“Everything I’m wearing. I get new outfits for each outing with him.”

The 2nd-Lady appraised María’s outfit for a few seconds, and told her,

“You’re the most expensive prostitute I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not a prostitute, he doesn’t pay me for sex. You’re not either, you’re just helping your husband’s job. I usually fuck my bosses, it’s not a big deal, part of the job. Do all politician’s wives do this?”

“Most politicians don’t pimp their wives – the wives are too old and unattractive. They hire young girls to fuck for votes. The girls are called escorts, or hostesses, or whatever. They make a lot of money, they lubricate the political gears. Hell, even the women politicians get male escorts for votes. Even the gays!”

The 2nd-Lady continued, “So what about [the Pol]? If you like this life, you’re a perfect wife for him, besides being beautiful, you hit all the right minority buttons. He needs a spectacular wife to move him up the ladder – does he want to marry you?”

“I don’t know. He mentioned it once several months ago. But I’m already married.”

“I thought you might be, you’re too precious to be single. Does your husband know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, we don’t keep secrets. He says I’m free, I can do what I want. I know it hurts him, but he likes the hurt. He’s a good man, I don’t want to leave him.”

“You can dump him – good men are cheap as dirt. [The Pol] may offer you an incredible, rich life. You’d be a good public wife for him and would help our party. Any children?”

“None, but I want some one day. I’m not sure I’d like the life I see here. What is a public wife?”

“The wife displayed at all the media events. You’ll need to divorce your husband as soon as possible, there has to be some time between the old and new husband. You’re probably wondering if there’s a private wife – that’s you, the mistress.”

“And if I’d rather stay as the mistress?”

“That’s more fun, but temporary. Younger, prettier girls always show up, but it’s fun while it lasts.”

“I’ll have to think about it. I need a drink.”

María wasn’t sure she wanted that lifestyle, but just to hedge her bets, she decided she would be the best lover the Pol could ever have. She would start tonight. She could decide about marrying him later.

The attention of these powerful, rich, men and women flattered María. Once she got over the initial pawing and groping, she enjoyed it and relentlessly teased the politicians, dangling before them the promise of her body. The Pol used her as bait, requiring results, usually votes or money, before he delivered María to their groping hands – of course they wanted more of her, much more. The Pol was soft, subtle and manipulative with her – she knew she was used but she didn’t feel pimped.

The Pol taught her how to inflame men. She didn’t think a man could teach her anything, but the Pol understood the lust for power, and how sex and money intertwined with power. He bent María to his ends – she was unique among his stable, he molded her into a weapon. From that, she became cynical about men’s weaknesses, including mine. From the men’s propositions, she learned many men with power like kinky stuff, even pain and humiliation. A few like to get pain, most like to give it, give it hard, especially to women.

She marveled how a poor girl from a third-world country had come within a few inches (the Pol measured 7.5 inches) of amazing power. She realized the Pol wasn’t necessarily her only ticket – if he didn’t score big, that many of the men there and some of the women could equally fill the Pol’s shoes, if not her vagina.

María’s event schedule went from 2-3 times per month to 5-6, the maximum she could manage with her job by cutting her work hours. Her menstrual period got in the way occasionally, and some of the politician’s events were rescheduled around her period! She sent her menstrual schedule to his secretary every month to make the scheduling easier.

End of book content.

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