Nancys Renewal Ch. 01

DISCLAIMER:

All characters appearing or mentioned in this story are 18 years old or older. All acts depicted are mutually consensual and agreed to by all characters involved. This story is a work of fiction and any reference or description to actual persons real or imagined is unintentional.

If you are enjoying these stories, leave a comment about what you liked or didn't, or things you want to ready more of. I'll take advice into consideration when I'm working out the next parts of the LoP stories.

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Nancys Renewal Ch. 01 - The Full Experience

July 2000

By the time Nancy called, the day was already well underway.

The sky was bright, the streets were busy, and everyone outside behaved as if they had been personally invited to enjoy the weather. Which also meant no small amount of women in spaghetti strapped tank tops, short shorts and even shorter skirts walking around downtown. Still, the air carried a pleasant dryness which was refreshing compared to the winter and spring dampness that clung to the skin and made cotton shirts feel like penance.

I was at the shop in the late morning before it opened, sitting behind the counter with a clipboard, trying to make sense of a shipment that had arrived short, mislabeled, and somehow smelling faintly of lavender. The lingerie business had taught me many things. Among them was the fact that even when the products were silk, lace, satin, and fantasy, it was still a business and the invoices were still written by people who just hated joy.

The private line rang just as I discovered a box marked "midnight blue" contained six dozen pairs of red stockings.

"This is Paul," I answered. It was weird still to say the name of the shop, and it was something that my twenty-year old brain was still trying to work on. "If this is about the last Carrington order, I have questions and a mild headache."

There was a brief silence.

"Should I call back when you are less involved with hosiery and g-strings?" Nancy asked.

Her voice did something to me every time. In December, when Eva first arranged for me to meet Nancy at a fancy coffee shop, Nancy had sounded polished, refined and reserved. Every statement had a feel of being pressed and folded. Even when this late-30s housewife admitted the state of her marriage, even when she spoke of her ex-husband with the calm of a woman mentally inventorying explosives, she kept her voice elegant. Mostly.

Now, months later, divorced and free in ways she was still discovering, Nancy sounded different. Not careless. But freer. Warmer. There was a new mischief in the spaces between her words and a palpable vitality to her manner.

"Nancy," I said cheerfully, setting down the clipboard. "You may have saved several dozen stockings from a terrible fate. What, pray tell, can I do for you?"

"You can start by listening carefully," she said. It sounded serious, but I could hear her smiling at the other end of the line. That playfulness was in full effect.

I leaned back on the stool. "I can do that."

"Can you leave the shop for the afternoon?"

"I own the shop."

"That is not an answer. Yes or no, please," she said, very business-like.

"Yes, I can leave the shop for the afternoon."

"Good. Then at two o'clock, I would like you to be in east Portland."

I looked at the clock. It was a little before noon at that point.

"There is a motel on Burnside. The Cedar Star," she continued. "It has a sign with a burned-out C, so at the moment it just reads 'edar Star.' There is an ice machine that sounds like a wood chipper. The office smells like old coffee and carpet powder. Room eighteen."

"That sounds totally respectable." I tried to control the sarcasm, but likely failed.

"Trust me," she said, the smile still ringing through the phone, "It is most definitely not."

I could hear traffic faintly through her end of the line. Wherever she was, she was not at home in the fancy mansion with the columns and the white furniture and the rooms that looked like they were waiting for a magazine photographer. That house was hers now, and we had no small amount of fun in many of the rooms, but it was still just a house. Some days she liked to test how much debauchery we could accomplish in them. Other days she wanted to go out into the world. I wholeheartedly endorsed any location Nancy wanted to explore, especially with me as company.

"Am I allowed to ask what this is about?" I said.

"No," she answered, "But you are allowed to name a price."

A price? For what? The possibilities are endless and fascinating.

"$200 dollars," I stated off the top of my head. It was more like a question cause I wasn't sure exactly what I was pricing out. The line was quiet for a few moments until Nancy spoke again.

"All right. $200 dollars."

There was a pause long enough to make the answer land (or rather crash) properly.

"Ohhhhh," I said finally, the last piece of the puzzle dropping into place. "For me."

Nancy continued before I could find the smart-ass remark that was nearly fully formed.

"We discussed this last week. In my sunroom. With wine, and a great deal of very precise vocabulary, and not a great deal of clothing."

"I remember. That was a fun afternoon."

I, in fact, remembered quite well. Nancy had worn only a loosely tied green silk robe, had sat in one of the wicker chairs near the firepit as if she were presiding over a board meeting, and had explained that she wanted to try a series of scenarios. Not dates, per se. Not affairs in the conventional sense either. Scenes. Roles. In a word; fantasies. Little dramas built around herself that would fulfill things she was curious about. Partly to test her limits, but mostly to see what she could potentially find enjoyable.

We had talked through limits. Signals. What was pretend, what was not, what words meant, what silence did not mean. That 'stop' meant just that; end of play, no more. You know, stop. It was important to set boundaries, even in fantasies.

Nancy had been a bit funny about it. She had made notes on actual stationery, taking clippings from adult magazines to emphasize some particular aspect of her role play. Positions, outfits, scenery, things like that which she found inspiring. The organization to it all was fascinating and I was eager to help her fulfill what I could.

You'd be eager too if you saw her wearing that green silk robe with a single smooth, freckled leg artfully uncovered and crossed. Her thighs alone are enough to give a man reason to pause and consider her beauty. Especially if she was willing to wear some of those outfits she found inspiring. Yowsers.

Her voice brought me back to the present. The exciting, mysterious present drama that we were about to undertake.

"Then you remember today's... scene," she asked.

"I do," I confirmed.

"Good," she said. "Two o'clock. And just to remind you; you are there because I called the number written on a matchbook in a bar I would deny ever entering."

"How very noir."

"I thought so."

"And if either of us laughs at the wrong time, we recover gracefully."

"That one may be the hardest."

"I know. You're prone to commentary at inappropriate times... sometimes at least," she said.

"Fair."

She exhaled, and I heard the real Nancy under the game for a moment.

"Good," she stated. However, the mischievous smile returned. "Don't be late. Men in your profession should be punctual."

"I am professional male companionship," I said, "Filling a time card is not in the job."

"A timecard is not the thing I am going to pay you to fill," she offered.

She hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment, then at the clipboard, then at the red stockings that were supposed to be midnight blue.

I left a note for my employees to sort out the order snafu and headed home in order to change. After all, if she was going to pay for my services, she should get the best looking package I could offer (pun intended). Maybe the blazer? Give myself a professional feel? In any case, I endeavored to make sure that she got what she was paying for.

#

The Cedar Star was perfect, if the goal was grungy disappointment and despair.

The C was indeed missing, which made the sign look less like advertising and more like a warning issued too late. The building sat behind a tired strip of asphalt on a loud stretch of Burnside where traffic never quite stopped. The afternoon sun hit every windshield in the lot, flashing hard enough to make the whole place feel exposed and feverish. I noticed quite a few high end cars parked here on my way to the room. Either the occupants were very cheap with their accommodations, or had another reason to come to a seedy, by-the-hour hotel in the east side.

The building was a large L shape with the open side facing the back of another building. Room eighteen was on the second floor, near the far end of an exterior walkway. A man in a sleeveless undershirt smoked below the stairs. A maid's cart stood abandoned two doors down. Somewhere nearby, the ice machine made a noise like metal furniture being eaten.

It was the middle of the day, which somehow made the motel feel even less respectable than it would have at midnight. Night gave places like this a kind of costume. In harsh daylight, there was nowhere for the stains to hide.

I had worn my best (not ripped) jeans and a nice long sleeve black button up shirt, mostly because it was useful and buttons gave me a more fancy air. At two exactly, I knocked.

The door opened six inches, held by the security chain.

One green eye looked out at me.

"Are you the guy?" Nancy asked.

For half a second I nearly smiled too much. She had lowered her voice and flattened the respectability out of it, but there was no disguising her. The freckles. The red hair cut at her jaw, today made messier than usual. The eyes lined dark enough to look tempting and dangerous.

"Depends who's asking," I said.

"A woman with money and very little patience."

"Then I'm the guy you called earlier," I confirmed.

"You alone?"

"Unless you count my bad ideas, yes," I confirmed.

Her eye narrowed. "Do those cost extra?"

"Usually they're included. But if you have something special in mind we can negotiate. "

She closed the door. The chain slid free. Then the door opened wide.

Nancy stood barefoot on the motel carpet. The room was cheap, and she had clearly looked to invade it like an expensive intruder. She wore a cream blouse tucked into a form fitting charcoal pencil skirt, much too fine for such a dismal setting. A pearl necklace rested loosely at her throat, again being absurdly elegant above the whole place. Her lipstick was deep red and her hair looked like she had done it carefully and then undone it with equal care.

She looked, in short, like a wealthy woman in a place she's not supposed to be. The effect she was going for was perfect.

"$200," she confirmed, holding out the stack of $20 bills.

I took the cash and pocketed it without counting. I stepped into the room but didn't bother closing the door yet.

"You aren't going to count it," she ask in mild shock.

"A woman in your position," I replied, "doing what you're doing, wouldn't be stupid enough to short change someone like me."

Since we were in the middle of the room, I stood there waiting for her to make a move. Instead, she started to pace around me, arms cross in front of her D-cup breasts. She was slow in her appraisal, taking a detailed inventory of the man she'd just paid cash money for.

"You're tall," she said finally.

"I get that," I replied, without even turning my head towards her.

"Young."

"Also that."

"Clean."

"I try."

"A bit mouthy, though." Her admonishment did nothing to stamp down my amusement.

"Sadly incurable. Besides," I said, looking her directly in the eyes, "You're going to like what I do with this mouth."

She stopped her pacing and looked fully at me, trying to maintain her composure. A hint of a smile could not be stopped from reaching the corner of her mouth.

"What do I call you?" I asked after a few heartbeats.

"You don't call me anything."

"Alright then," I said.

"And you? What should I call you," she asked.

"You're the one who's slumming it here. So we can have some fun, you can call me whatever you want, and then you can go back to pretending to be respectable when you leave."

That almost-smile came out again. Slowly she walked to the door and closed it, fastening the chain once more. As she did so I took a better look around the room. My attention had been all on Nancy (or whoever she was pretending to be at the moment), but looking at the room it reminded me of every bad-guy stash house from every low-budget action movie ever made.

The curtains were heavy and brown, but sunlight still shone around the edges since the curtains didn't go all the way across. The bedspread was a violent orange pattern that made my eyes water slightly. The table by the window held Nancy's purse, a paper sack, two bottles of water, and a neatly folded white cardigan that looked as if it wanted no part of this adventure.

The slide of the chain changed the feeling in the room dramatically.

She felt it too. I could see the moment run across her face, the small flash of excitement before she gathered herself. Nancy could be fearless, but she wasn't dumb. That was one of the things I liked about her. She felt everything, then often choose the thing she'd never done before. Adventurous, for certain.

She came back around to my side, so I turned to face her, my back to the bed.

"We have an hour," she said, stepping closer. "Then I have to become respectable again."

"Sounds tragic."

"It is. I have dinner reservations."

"With who?"

"You ask too many questions for... hired help," she chided.

"Occupational hazard."

She put a finger against my chest and walked me backward until my knees touched the bed. I automatically sat down, her finger still pushing into my chest.

"Here is what you need to know," she said, looming over me. "I am bored. I am divorced. My ex-husband is elsewhere disappointing some other woman, then probably congratulating himself in a hotel bar. I have spent years being looked at without being seen, and today I decided to pay someone to look properly at me."

"No other potential suitors available? Because that sounds like an expensive service."

"It should be. That's what makes it a service."

"Two hundred seems low. At least now," I said.

Finger still pressing against my chest, she leaned down until our mouths were a hairs breadth apart. When she parted her lips, I could feel the heat from her breath as she whispered. "Then impress me."

The first kiss was not sweet. It was... appraising, almost timid, a test she could pretend was business. But within seconds the game had heat added to it, familiar and wild and passionate. She kissed like she was angry at how good kissing could be, like every new pleasure came with a fire she was feeding with her desire.

I let the role shape me. I was no great thespian, but I could pretend to be a gentleman of the evening. Or afternoon, as it were. I tried to be something more direct than I might have been if we were at her house with wine and candles. I brought her down to me, let my hands tell her she had my full attention, that she was an object of my desire. Nancy responded with little gasps that became laughter, then with laughter that became a satisfied, triumphant sigh.

"That's better," she said against my mouth.

"Only better?"

"So far," she said between kisses. "My husband didn't touch me for years. 'Better' is a vast improvement, so shut up and take the compliment."

Since she wanted to be ready for her dinner plans, I didn't waste any more time with talk. She was full of heat and desire, and my 'job' was to fulfill them. Pulling her fully down onto of me, I then flipped us over so I was on top. Going to my knees, I quickly unbuttoned her blouse which she leaned up and shook off. Her bra was a sensible cream color as well that hooked in the front. I started to reach for it but she was quicker, unhooking it with one hand and shrugging out of that as well. Her D-cup breasts were smooth, full, covered in freckles, and sported the familiar large, dark pink nipples I knew were very sensitive.

Leaning down, I began to massage her breasts, taking one of those delectable nipples into my mouth. I sucked and squeezed with my lips, drawing out several satisfied moans from Nancy. Her hands went to the back of my head, pulling me into her firmly, encouraging me to feast on her more and more.

After a few minutes and even more moans from her, I leaned back up and unzipped her pencil skirt. She put her legs together so I could slide it off of her. I was treated to the sight of her bottom covered, if such a garment was even capable of that, in a bright red thong. It was even smaller than I'd normally seen, and was more a g-string than anything else.

She moved her hips again, thinking I was going to take it off. Instead I pushed her back down.

"That we can leave on," I said, running my hands up her thighs, over her hips and brushing them over stomach just below her breasts.

She grew more excited as my hands roved over her body, cupping her breasts with a firm squeeze before feeling her back down to her hips and ass.

I drew away and stood at the foot of the bed. Unbuttoning my shirt a bit, I pulled it off and cast it aside. Nancy, showing her need, moved to sit at the edge of the bed and started undoing my belt and pants. She deftly undid the buttons and pulled them down in one smooth motion. As she did so, my long, thick erection sprang up, nearly hitting her in the face.

Coming face to face (or face to cock) with an object of her desire left her momentarily speechless. Staring at my cock, a smile slowly crossed her face. Looking up at me as she did so, she opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue and took the head fully into her mouth.

I groaned in pleasure as her hot mouth sucked on the head of my cock. Her tongue playing on the underside every time she went down, her lips stretching around my girth in gloriously lewdness. After a few moments she went down further and further, until she was taking me down nearly half way with each bob of her head.

"Fuck, that feels amazing," I told her, "but I thought you were paying me to pleasure you?"

She backed off my cock from her mouth with a pop. "Oh, I am," she said with a slight pant to her breathing, a few strands of red hair artfully disheveled. "But I want this cock as hard as possible when it's time to please me. Speaking of which..."

Nancy laid back down on the bed, resting on her elbows. With a sudden vulgarity, she parted her knees and drew her legs back. Her thong covered sex was visibly moist, and tantalizing to see, even beckoning to me in its own way.

"You promised that I'd like what did with your mouth," she said. With a hand, she pulled the thong aside, revealing the small triangle bush above her bare, glistening pussy. "Now let's see if you can back up that claim."

Sporting a smile of my own, I lowed my face down between her legs but didn't immediately start my tongue lashing. I ran kisses along her inner thighs first. Moving from leg to leg, exhaling over her vulva as my mouth passed it brought out more moans and a yearning in her voice that was my intent. She was paying to be properly serviced, so skipping past these critical foreplay steps was out of the question.

Besides... I really like going down on Nancy.

After a minute or so I started light licks along her labia, flicking her clit with each stroke. I pressed my tongue flat against her entire clit and pussy, teasing her with the tip of my tongue as I wiggled it at her entrance. After the panting of her took on a frustrated tone, I move on to suckling her clit with firm pressure, flicking it with my tongue.

"Oh yeeeeeeees," she called loudly, "that's what I was hoping for. A proper licking by a man who knows how. Who wants to feast on me in the most vulgar way."

Pleased with how she was pleased at being so well pleased, I continued my efforts at her clit. I also added a finger, then two into her sex, pressing firmly down to stroke the back of her vagina. Her hands, automatically, went to the back of my head and pressed me down firmly into her.

"Harder," she panted. Looking up at her through the valley of her breasts, she simultaneously looked down as I tended to her. "Harder, please, ohhhhhh harderrrrr."

Harder I pressed. On her clit, in her pussy. With my other hand I reached under her and firmly grabbed an ass cheek. Her breathing became faster and shallowed the longer I worked. Finally, I turned my fingers around, going in for the kill.

I quickly found her g-spot and pressed into it with the pressure I knew would get her there quickly.

"Oh FUCK!" she called out. "Oh my fucking hell YES!"

It was only a few more moments until I was rewarded with the tightening around my fingers, telling me she was cumming. Her pussy contracted down in one strong pulse while her body shook wildly. She was momentarily shocked into silence, but only momentarily.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" she screamed as her body quivered madly. I stopped my oral attack and let her ride through her orgasm, enjoying her bodies reaction to my efforts, her bucking hips, her hands squeezing her nipples until they were purple. Her pussy kept a firm clamp on my fingers for a few long moments before she started to come down. She was breathing heavily still, but her hips had settled down so I took the opportunity to withdraw from her. A slight moan escaped her lips as I slid my fingers away.

The thumping on the wall brought us both out of our reverie. We both stared at the stained, discolored wall. Then from the other side, a man's voice called, "Good for you, lady."

Nancy froze, her eyes went wide. A laugh broke out of me, and then she was laughing too, shaking against me, face red under the freckles.

"I am NEVER coming here again," she whispered.

"We'll see about that," I said boldly, moving up between her legs. She parted for me, allowing me to settle my thick, hard cock against her slick, hot pussy.

Nancy looked down between us, hands cupping and stroking her breasts absently.

"It's so big, and long" she said. Looking to me, "I'm not sure it will all fit."

"Oh," I said, running the head of my cock along her folds, "I'm sure we'll make do."

I pushed the head in all at once, eliciting a hissing inhale from Nancy, and then a contented groan on her exhale.

"That is... something else," she said. She hissed again when I pulled back slightly and buried my shaft deeper into her. "Oh FUCK ME!"

"We're getting to that," I assured her. Her tight smile and the slanting of her eyes told me to hurry up.

She continued to purr for a minute as I worked deeper and deeper into her. She reached under her knees and pulled them even higher up to allow me more room. With a final groan from both of us, I pushed in the last bit until I was completely buried in Nancys amazing pussy.

"Oh shit, that is a lot to take," she panted. "I can see you pushing my stomach out."

For effect, I pulled nearly out and plunged back in. Her lower tummy did bulge a little, but that just added to the feeling of debauchery that this encounter was going for.

"Now," she said firmly after getting used to my size, "show me why you're worth the $200 I paid."

I pulled out and push in again hard, making her tits jostle.

"OH FUCK!" she called out, more in surprise than pressure.

"As you wish," I said.

Getting up to a kneeling missionary position, I started my pace slowly, but only at first. After a minute I started pumping into her faster and faster. In this position, I knew the head was stroking her g-spot just right to start to build to the next orgasm. I reached forward and grabbed both her tits in my hands, both for our mutual pleasure, but also for a bit of leverage and stability.

With such a thoroughly good fucking, her manner and properness were drowned in a sea of endorphins. The curses and moans she let loose were incredible and hot, and it was difficult to sustain the effort without losing my own self control in the passion.

But, I had a job to do. And I was going to do it (another pun intended) well.

With the pitch of her moans increasing, I picked up the pace yet again and fucked into her hard. I angled forward slightly so that each thrust also hit her clit. A little extra stimulation never hurt, and it forced her eyes open to look at me while I worked in her.

"I'm gonna cum," she announced. It sounded like relief, but with a mix of apprehension maybe. "Oh, FUCK, I'm going to cum hard."

"Cum on this cock," I demanded. "You deserve to get what you paid for."

Her mouth froze in an O shape as we stared at each other. I continued my pace, fucking her as fast and hard as I could and still maintain position. A minute later, she took a huge, deep breath an bellowed out as her orgasm slammed into her.

"Oh. My. Fuck. Me. Oh. Oh. Yes. Yes. YEEEEEEEEEES!" she bellowed in time with my thrusts. I felt the insanely pleasurable pressure on my cock and I slowed, but didn't stop completely. Her body racked again with the waves of pleasure that washed over her. After a few moments she started to come down, and I slowed then stopped my pumping into her.

This time, she was not the least bit embarrassed by the distant clapping we heard from the wall. When her orgasm passed, she lay still for a while, breathing hard, her hands fisted in the bedspread.

I was still keyed up, still painfully aware of how much unfinished want was running through me, but she looked so stunned and satisfied that I stayed where I was and stroked a hand over her stomach. I was starting to be aware of how long I was kneeling when her eyes snapped open. She looked directly at me.

"So," I asked, "worth it?"

"Yes, but don't become smug," she said, resuming her breathing. Once sufficiently back to a normal rhythm, she started to move.

Nancy pushed me away and got up from the bed suddenly, pushed her hair from her face, and began gathering her clothes with the brisk efficiency of a woman late for a committee meeting. She found her blouse, stepped into her skirt, and slowly buttoned herself with fingers that were not quite steady. The fact that she was trying to look composed in that dreadful room made the whole thing feel exactly like the scene she had imagined.

What the actual fuck, I wondered internally.

"That's it?" I asked.

She looked over her shoulder. Her lipstick was mostly gone. Her eyes were bright.

"That was well worth the $200."

"I feel underpaid."

--- questionable section ---

"You were paid in opportunity. Tell me you didn't enjoy having sex with me?"

"Well, duh! Of course I did," I confirmed.

"Then consider your enjoyment a tip, if you wish." She said while she looked around for her shoes.

She slipped into her heels, checked her face in the mirror, and put on the white cardigan. The transformation was startling. Not complete, not with her hair still mussed and her cheeks flushed, but enough that I could see the woman she had spent years becoming on command. Respectable. Dignified. Leaving before anyone could ask what she wanted.

She picked up her purse. At the door, she stared at it for a second before turning her head back towards me.

"I did have one other... idea," she said, an eyebrow lifting in quizitivly. "If that is something you would have time for, given your your busy schedule of fucking debutantes. "

Like a shot I was up off the bed. I tried to be cool about it, however the erection swinging back and forth probably made me a little less dignified that I wanted to portray.

"You're the only one on my schedule. Besides," I told her, stroking her still-flushed cheek.

Her eyes were smiling, even though her lips were struggling to maintain their resting bitch face. There was also something else in her eyes. Excitement? Intrigue?

I slowly slid her purse off her shoulder and tossed it back on the table.

"You've already paid for it," I said in what I thought was a smooth, sultry tone. My best come hither voice. "You may as well get the full experience."

"And we had one," she said, arms crossing over her breasts, an eyebrow still raised quizzically. "I paid you to have sex with me and make me cum. Job done. What else I want would likely be extra."

"How about this," I offered, "In the interest of gaining your eventual repeat business, the next... indulgence, of yours will be on me."

This certainly peaked her excitement, as her chest visibly heaved, and her nipples were clearly standing out from her blouse. She thought about it for a few long moments before answering.

"Very well," she said, turning fully towards me. "I want to be fucked." At least she was direct. "And I mean it like it sounds. Truly and utter used, my pussy just a plaything for your, admittedly impressive cock. I want... more or less... to get off on being used to get off."

I thought on this for a moment. She wasn't asking for a forced-fantasy. She wanted to be an object.

No; a desired object. She wanted to be wanted, needed. That was something very much I could do.

"I can do that," I told her, moving so that my naked chest brushed against crossed arms, my dick grazing the front of her skirt. "But how 'used' do you want to be? Tied up, fucked and forgotten, or maybe spanked a little?"

She thought about it long and hard, all the while pushing her pelvis every so slightly into my dick. "You may, I can't believe I'm saying this, you may spank me. And you can most certainly fuck me like a cheap whore."

"Oh sweet-heart," I said, un-crossing her arms and taking her hands in mine. "If you were a whore, you'd be anything but cheap."

I pulled her into a kiss, hard and wet. She responded instantly, her hands going around my neck, our tongues fencing and jousting frantically. It was hot, but not what she wanted, so I broke the kiss and spun her around. Her hands automatically braced against the door as I grabbed her hips, pushing against her body with my own. The feel of her still-clothed ass against my throbbing erection was amazing, firm and supple.

From her breathing, I could tell she was excited. Good. I put my mouth to her ear, growling with the desire I had for her.

"Since you haven't been properly fucked, let me show you what you've been missing."

She spun her head around, her eyes full of heat and defiance. "Talk is cheap. If you want me to hire you again, you'd better be able to back it up."

I pulled her skirt up over her ass and hips. She kept her hands against the door, but looked down at what I was intending. The sight she presented at that moment was lewd, crass, and definitely not anything you'd see in polite society. Feeling her thong covered sex, I could tell she was still wet, still ready for more. Pulling the tiny string of her thong aside, I brushed the head of my cock against her ass, pushing between her cheeks to graze her sex.

With minimal resistance from her eager pussy, I slid my entire thick length into her in only a few strokes. Bottoming out against her ass was an altogether different sort of amazing that would take an entire book to describe.

I confirmed her readiness by pulling out and pushing in fully a few times. She groaned in repressed pleasure, her jaw clenched tight to prevent her calls from escaping.

Once I felt she was ready, I started to fuck Nancy from behind. Not like we did before, but a truly hard, frantic fucking that only someone so close to cumming can provide. She wanted to be 'truly fucked' as she put it, and I wanted to fuck her. The desire was built up and needed to be released. I was on the edge for a while and her leaving was not exactly part of the script. Thankfully we came to a better conclusion to this little drama.

"Now," I told her when her throat was making low rumbles, "this is what it means to be fucked. Not like you society sluts are accustomed to, is it?"

She answered with profanity sharp enough to cut steel, holding her tongue with a defiant lift of her chin whenever she was about to break down in either a laugh or a grin of primal need or desire. Her lips went from smiling, to an O shape, and back again rapidly the longer I fucked her.

I gave her a chance, though, just to prove to her (or rather, her character) just how much of a slut she was under all that refinement. Just how much she needed a good fucking, like everyone else in the world.

"Was this how you thought getting fucked was going to be?"

Her gritted teeth eventually couldn't hold back her pleasure anymore, and her scowl turned into a gasp and an open mouth smile. "I hate how much I love this feeling. How good this dick is making me feel."

I steadily railed against her ass, penetrating deeply with each thrust. "Yea, you high society broads are just as slutty as the rest. And you like being called a slut, don't you?"

"Yes I like it," she barked back at me. Her eyes were shut tight as she took my entire dick over and over. "I like pretending to be a slut."

"You aren't pretending," I told her, spanking her pale, freckled ass cheek for emphasis. She moaned at the action. "With how much you like it, you are a slut."

I fucked her harder, faster, grabbing her hips for purchase as I felt my need grow steadily greater. As I started to feel the tingle at the base of my dick, I put my mouth to her ear once more.

"I'm going to cum soon," I told her, "and I'll give you a choice. Either I blow this load in that sexy mouth, or I dump it all inside this hot, tight, fancy little pussy. Which do you want?"

"Oh, fuuuuck," she panted, back in character.

"If you don't pick one," I said, squeezing her ass harder to prove my intent, "I'm going to cum all over your pretty little face, and send you out into the street like that. An upper class bitch with a face covered in cum like a common whore. So choose."

My rhythm was still steady but I was getting closer. I was pushing so hard into Nancy that she was on her tip-toes to keep the angle from tearing her apart.

"Better hurry up before I paint that face with cum," I said.

"Oh fuck," she called out loudly. "Cum inside me!"

"Don't want to taste cum," I asked, "too refined for such base behavior?"

She looked back at me with a gritted smile and fire in her eyes. "Because I'm going to cum again and I need you to keep fucking me to get there."

Well, that was certainly a good reason. I was inspired at such a statement and slammed into her ass even harder, spurred on by her need to cum again. It was only a few dozen strokes before my dam finally broke.

"Oh fuck yes you pretty little slut! I'm fucking cumming in your hot little cunt!" I called out. My first shots fired off like an explosion, pushing cum into her pussy just as Nancy's own orgasm hit. Her outburst was more guttural than verbal, groaning and sighing and moaning at length. Her pussy squeezed my cock hard once more, taking in every spasm and cum load I fired into her. The exquisite agony of my orgasm washed over me hard, and quickly. After a minute or so it felt nearly normal again, although much relieved and euphoric as the high of a quality orgasm slowly diminished.

Nancy sank down to stand normally, and we stood there, joined at the sex for a few more moments. I leaned close to her ear once more, this time in a more sensual tone.

"Now," I told her, "that is what you get for $200. Remember that next time you call me."

I slowly withdrew from Nancy, a large stream of cum leaking out and running down her inner thigh. She turned around and leaned there a moment against the door, skirt still raised, blouse wrinkled, thong askew, thick streams of cum running down her leg. She looked like a perfect example of a repressed housewife who let loose. A glorious mess in a pristine vision.

Feeling that my job was now truly done, I clapped my hands loudly to get her attention.

"Well, this has been fun, thanks for the payment, and please tell your friends about me."

I moved Nancy away from the door, opened it, and escorted her gently outside, still in the state of disrepute. I tossed her purse to her and then closed the door in her face, locking it for good measure.

I moved to the window and watched her. At first she was stunned; the disbelief that such a delicate moment can turn around so quickly seemed new to her. But as she cast her gaze to each side, I could see her disbelief turn into something more enjoyable. She was smiling fully, almost giddy at the sudden turn of events. She was, for lack of a better description, turned on and happy about it.

Watching Nancy pull herself back together was almost as intimate as undressing her.

She ignored the large stream of cum running down her let, but reset her thong and smoothed her skirt down over her hips. She found the hem of her blouse and tucked it in with quick, precise movements. She adjusted the white cardigan over her shoulders, then reached up to pat her hair back into something that suggested intention. The whole process should have made her look more respectable.

It did not. It made her look like a woman carrying a secret so bright it showed through every attempt to cover it. The way you know someone is hiding something juicy and it's given that person a new kind of energy or glow.

She turned slightly, enough for me to see her profile. Her cheeks were flushed. Her mouth curved. She knew I was watching. Of course she knew. She lifted one hand and fixed the pearl necklace at her throat.

Then she looked directly at the window. The curtain covered most of me, but not enough. Her smile said she could see exactly where I stood. Her glance down said she was pleased with what she saw.

She raised her eyebrows, the perfect picture of scandalized superiority, then mouthed two words I could not hear through the glass but understood anyway.

Worth it.

Recovering my own clothes and redressing, I left the dingy hotel room, and the hole that was the 'edar Star' hotel, making my way to my own car and away from this side of town. Taking the cash out of my pocket to put in my wallet, I saw something in red pen written on one of the notes.

Dinner. Seven. Riverside.

Under that, in smaller letters:

Wear the blazer. You aren't working tonight.

#

Riverside was the sort of restaurant where the staff pretended not to notice things because noticing them would lower the tone.

I arrived at seven in the blazer, clean shirt, and the unnerving feeling that the waiter could tell where I had spent the afternoon. This was irrational, but only technically. Nancy had once brought me here after our first day together, and I still associated the place with oysters, linen napkins, and a red-haired woman learning how much she enjoyed making me blush in public.

The host recognized me, or more likely recognized me as someone attached to Nancy, which was its own category of social passport. I tried not to be too affronted, as I had once tipped him several hundred dollars when I took Alina here.

"She's already seated," he said, with the smooth neutrality of a man who could survive any scandal by refusing to have facial expressions.

Nancy was in the back, at the same private table near the plants.

For a moment I stopped walking.

If the woman at the motel had been Nancy slumming, the woman at Riverside was Nancy restored. Or nearly restored. She wore a deep blue dress that made her green eyes brighter and her red hair look like flame under the low lights. The pearls were gone, replaced by a thin gold necklace that rested against her throat. Her makeup was fresh, subtle and perfect. Her posture was immaculate.

She saw me and smiled.

"You're late," she said when I reached the table.

I checked the clock by the wait station. "It's 6:59."

"A gentleman arrives early."

"I thought I was off duty."

"You are. Please, sit," she gestured to the empty chair.

There was already wine on the table, along with a small plate of oysters on ice.

"You ordered without me," I said, "how metropolitan."

"You looked hungry this afternoon," she commented.

"Oh," I said in mock horror, hand going to my chest, "the scandal you'll cause."

"What?" Her eyes were perfectly innocent. "I meant after all that work."

We chuckled a little at the afternoons adventures. We chatted about other things as well.

For a while we behaved. Mostly. She asked about the shop, and I told her about the red stockings pretending to be midnight blue. She told me about an argument with her lawyer over ex-husband Martin's attempt to claim a set of silver serving trays as "business assets," which made even less sense when she explained that Martin had never served anything in his life except himself.

She also reported that there was apparently a lake house that Martin 'forgot' to disclose in their divorce. Some retro active orders were being drawn up, but she was hopeful she'd get it.

"If anything, I'd just want to sell it off for super cheap, just to stick it to him a little."

"Is it worth the time," I asked. "Vengeance is fun, but exhausting work."

"Maybe we can take a trip up and see. I'll let you know when I get the keys."

More oysters arrived soon after, and Nancy looked at them with a smile that belonged nowhere near polite society.

"Do you ever think," she said, "that Riverside would refuse me service if they knew what I had been doing a few hours ago?"

"No."

"No?"

"They would pretend not to know but keep it in mind for use later. I mean, I could probably point out at least a dozen people in this place who've done shadier stuff just since sitting down. And the wait staff likely keeps tabs on everyone."

She laughed into her wine.

"You may be right."

"Besides, I suspect half the people in here have worse secrets and far less charm."

"That is a lovely compliment."

"It was also a bit of market analysis."

"Useful and handsome," she said. "Look at you earning your supper."

The word useful, spoken now across fine linen and candlelight, should not have affected me the way it did. Nancy saw it land. Of course she did.

She ate an oyster, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with a look that would have gotten us removed from a less committed establishment.

"I thought I might feel ashamed at dinner," she said.

"Do you?"

"No." She sounded almost surprised. She lowered her voice and leaned towards me. I leaned in as well.

"In fact, after we parted, I went home to clean up, and I was still so... aroused, that I couldn't think straight. I had to spend the better part of an hour pleasuring myself in order to calm down. And I did almost nothing, because all I could think about was how good you made me feel, which just aroused me all over again."

This did quite a lot to peak my interest, as well as the front of my pants.

"And now," I asked, literally on the edge of my seat.

"Now," she said with a smile, "I feel hungry."

"For oysters?"

"Among other things."

"Good heavens, I may have to up my rates."

She pointed her fork at me. "You, good sir, are worth it."

She looked down at the table a moment, then back up.

"Today was crude. Ridiculous. Not at all what high society would call becoming. But it was mine, and it was fun. And honestly, it felt amazing to be someone else."

"I'm glad," I said. "I think it was as well. And fun."

"And even when you were playing the part of taking, with my pinned against the door, you still let me get mine. I liked that very, very much," she said, placing her warm, soft hand over mine.

"That was the point," I said, willing her hand to never move. It did, sadly, and picked up another oyster.

"I know." She smiled, softer now. "That's why there'll be a next time."

"And, pray tell, what next time is that? There was a list if I recall."

She reached into her purse and removed a small white piece of paper. She slid it across the table.

"As you said."

It was a folded piece of stationery. Nancy's handwriting was neat, slanted elegantly, and confident.

At the top she had written:

Nancy's Renewal

Below that:

Chapter One: The Sleazy Motel

Underneath, the next line read:

Chapter Two:

I looked up at her.

"You're naming our encounters."

"Yup."

"And gave it chapters, and titles even."

"I like structure," she said. She was not at all ashamed. Good for her.

The waiter arrived with dinner before I could say anything else. We both enjoyed steak, with vegetables arranged as if they had hired a renaissance artist. We ate like sophisticated people, which is to say Nancy made comments that nearly caused me to choke and then asked the waiter about dessert with a face of perfect innocence. She also felt it necessary to play footsies with my leg under the table. The minx.

Over dessert and coffee, we formulated her plans for the next chapter.

"Saturday," she said.

"What happens Saturday?"

"We begin chapter two," she stated, matter of factly.

"Already?"

"If I wait too long, I may loose momentum. Or, even more tragic, I may become... respectable... again."

"We can't have that."

"No," she said, lifting her coffee. "We absolutely can't."

After dinner, I walked her to her car. The evening had cooled, and the lights from the restaurant shone on the wet-looking pavement even though it hadn't rained. Nancy stood by the driver's door, keys in hand, and looked up at me.

"Thank you for today," she said.

"For the hotel, or the dinner?"

"For both, but if I'm honest, the hotel was sort of the highlight today."

She kissed me then. Deeply, yet softly. Our arms found their way around each other, prolonging the kiss. I couldn't stop myself from getting excited by her lips, her touch, her body pressed so firmly against mine. I could feel her smile as we broke our kiss.

"My my," she said, "next Saturday is going to be very fun indeed."

"Hopefully I can wait," I said, refusing to withdraw my arms from her. She likewise kept me in close as well.

"I know for a fact that you have other women you need to... service, for lack of a better word." She smiled at the meaning, and I did in fact have several ladies who regularly hit me up for some action. "So go and have your fun. Because deep down you know that I can get you excited like none of those other women can."

Kissing me quickly, she slid from my arms into the car and drove away, leaving me standing under the Riverside lights.

This, I thought to myself, was going to be fun.