This is chapter 6, part 6 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 6, Not a Prostitute
We spent most Saturdays buying her clothes and accessories at the Hooker Shop, and the manager always had an advance list of items for each of her events. And that’s how I clued-in that some of her events weren’t real. I suspected the first non-event when the list contained only 6 complete sets of lingerie, and she could choose any dress, shoes and accessories she pleased. It couldn’t be a political event, it could only be a straight fuck session, and so it was. It wasn’t the first non-event ride (I called them ‘gallops’). María confessed, and said the gallops featured dancing, modeling, or strip-teasing for the Pol. He didn’t dance, but she loved to perform, and it got him seriously hot.
I wondered if María realized with the ‘gallops’ she crossed over the line from escort to hooker? Did that make me a pimp? I thought the value of the clothes she received might be small for the services she provided – was she a cheap hooker? I didn’t say anything to her – what did it matter if she escorted and fucked, or just fucked?
I examined the face masques at the Hooker Shop and marveled at their colors and artistry. The masques for penis-sucking were stiff with large, smooth apertures for the mouth, polished on both sides. Other masques displayed with the face masques had strange shapes, without holes for the eyes and nose. I didn’t recognize them and asked the manager. “They fit over the penis and testicles to suppress the pubic hair.” These were flexible and molded over the abdomen. Now the vulva masques for the same purpose were easy to identify. I remembered María had taken several before, and asked her about them. She said she and the Pol had not used them for months. The Pol was bristly and, at her request, trimmed his pubic hair short so it didn’t intrude into her mouth. And she also trimmed her already sparse pubic hair at the make-up parlor when she depilated excess hair around the edges. Of course, I had noticed the attractiveness of her vulva and lower abdomen, but never made the connection to trimming. She never told me of this preference – I immediately began trimming myself.
María made a two-night gallop with the Pol and arrived back at the house looking like she had been scalded with hot water. Her legs were splotchy red, and her armpits, and inner abdomen and buttocks glowed like a severe sunburn. They made a trip to Tijuana and removed all her body hair with a process illegal in the USA. Four days later, the burn had disappeared, and the full, uncovered glory of her vulva was stunning, and permanently so. Whatever the Pol gained from this change was nothing compared to the notch-up of eroticism I gained. Just seeing her nude made me harder, stronger and more aggressive, and she quickly learned raising her skirt was sufficient to make me drop any activity and go after her.
* * * * * * * * * *
I frequently noticed small marks on her neck, shoulders, breasts, inner thighs, and buttocks. I took a closer look to see they were small bite marks. María said they were passion marks and abruptly brushed off my questions. She said she was his voluntary mount, and I was just her husband – I had no right to ask. I worried her intimacy with the Pol deepened.
I figured he rode each of his escorts at least once per week on average, two-four ejaculations each outing. This meant his sperm count and semen quantity must be low. I could do nothing about my testicle hormones, the vasectomy canceled that out, but he wouldn’t best me for semen. I pumped her full of semen at least 3 times per week. The erotic Hooker Shop lingerie helped out a lot. The Pol wouldn’t win the hormone race.
Over time, María became comfortable with the Pol’s cocaine and anus-fucking, so I asked her if we should try cocaine together. She was adamant she wanted no drugs away from the Pol. I also tried to anus-fuck her, but she forcefully refused me. She said I didn’t deserve it, it was puta sex, and she wasn’t crazy about it anyway. She did enjoy the attention and admiration of her beauty she received at the events, and she amassed a great collection of expensive clothes and jewelry. And she absolutely loved the rawness of fucking the Pol. She said he made her feel alive in the otherwise gray-death culture in the USA. Every time she returned from him, I half-jokingly asked her, “Divorce or no?”, and she always answered, “Not today, maybe later.” I quit worrying about losing her to him – their’s was just raw, drug-enhanced sex. No love, little cariño, and he didn’t get enough hormones into her to bend her to him.
* * * * * * * * * *
María came home one early afternoon from an event and ride with her usual post-orgasmic glow. However, by dinner time, she was moody and brooding. She came in my office and announced,
“I am not a prostitute.”
“Of course you’re not, what a silly thing to say.”
“A woman at the reception told me I am an expensive prostitute.”
“That’s ridiculous, no one is paying you for sex. Who was this woman? She’s just jealous of your beauty and your sexy clothes – blow her off.”
“She’s the wife of the senate president. She’s been very nice to me, the only one. She says she is a prostitute, that all the women at the events are prostitutes, we’re all buying something with sex. She said I’m an expensive prostitute.”
“You’re not. Period. He doesn’t pay you. You’re his mistress, he’s your lover, that’s all.”
“I like the sound of that, his ‘mistress’. But it’s not right – I’m his lover, not his mistress. He’s not married. And he has other women besides me, he fucks them all, I’m sure.”
I persisted, “You’re his favored mistress, the other escorts are just political tokens. He fucks them because he can, because he’s a bastard. You’re his true mistress.”
“The woman said I’m a high-class prostitute because he pays me with expensive clothes and jewelry.”
“I give you gifts too, sexy clothes and jewelry, whenever I can. Does that make you a prostitute? Would you fuck him if he didn’t give you gifts?”
“Then you’re not a prostitute. You fuck him because he’s a good lover. You don’t do it for the gifts. So stop! You’re my wife, you’re his mistress, and he gives you nice gifts because he’s crazy about his mistress.”
María pondered for a few moments, said, “I like the sound of that, his mistress,” then turned on that sunrise smile. She was satisfied. As she walked away, she proudly announced, “I’m not a prostitute but I’m a magnificent whore!”
What did she mean by that? She hated being called a whore. She walked back towards the kitchen and I froze watching her hips swing, tension growing in my groin. My work focus was shattered, I got up to waylay her into the bedroom. That was a close call. I resolved to change the nickname of the Hooker Shop to the Mistress Shop. And now I was certain of one thing –
my María is a prostitute. An expensive, high-class prostitute.
I was already shaking with lust. I went to fuck her. For free.
End of book content.
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