control myself, to think straight, to say the words correctly. My whole body was quaking with excitement.
'I used to get so excited that I would purposely wait for the most crowded train… push my way in… and wait until someone began to feel me up!'
Sweat poured down his face. His eyes were closed and he was straining desperately. 'Mo… uhl… rel More, Sally. More/'
'I-I once let a man put his hand on my cunt… under my skirt… inside of my pantiesr 'Oh… God… I'm… going… to… come!'
'He did that to me… put his finger inside of me… in my cunt… fingering me on the crowded subway… and I- I…' 'What, Sally… Whatr
'I touched himT I began to moan. I could taste the pleasure in my mouth. 'I put my hand…down his pants! I touched his cock…' 'Now… nowr My hand was a swirling blur against my cunt.
'… and while he fingered me… my cunt… I jerked him off!' 'I'm coming, Sally,' he cried. 'Tm coming/'
The sperm began to gush from the tip of Benson's cock, spitting across the room at me. Thick, swirling white blobs. Hot. Hot. Hot!
We earner I moaned. My orgasm was screaming in my ears. 'We came,.. on the crowded subway… his finger in my cunt… my hand on his cock… jerking him off. Sperm… sperm all over my hand… all over his pants… Hot… So wet! The first time I've ever felt itl… Oh my God, I'm coming!'
I pushed down with my cunt, straining against the orgasm as if it were an abrasive friction rubbing up between my parted thighs. A quivering blob of sperm splashed against my thigh, landed on my belly, burned into the hair on my crotch.
'I can feel it,' I groaned, standing, coming like crazy. 'I can feel your sperm, Benson. I can feel your sperm on my bodyr
My back was screaming, pain fused with pleasure. My arm began to cramp, and my knees began to crumble. Pleasure soared up and down inside of me, like some crazy sexual elevator, going up and down, up and down, up and down until it blew the top of my head right off.
I stumbled and fell, first to one knee, then all the way down until I was lying flat on the rug. My fingers twirled the bud of my clit, splashing through the sperm that dripped from my cunt.
I lay there for a very long time on the electric blue rug. I had two fingers buried deep inside of my cunt. Standing over me, milking his cock, was Benson Kores, still fully dressed. And every once in a while, another spurt of sperm would drip from his cock, and land hotly on my naked back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I lasted at the Geisha for about a month after my session with Benson Kores. The experience was a good one, and I made a great deal of money, most of which I did manage to save, but in the end, the Geisha was just another house, another trap that I had led myself into. It was no different, really, than all the other houses I've spent my life in, from my parents home, to school, to the house I lived in with my husband, Peter. Another trap, another snare, another false illusion of promise, of -freedom, that was as false and as deceiving as all the rest of the world. There was no more happiness there, no more freedom there, than there was in anything else I've looked very carefully at. It was a big, phony lie-with golden doorknobs, silver trimmings, electric blue rugs and crystal chandeliers. But no real, lasting happiness: only the illusion of freedom.
Oh, sure, I did have some freedom: certainly more than I ever had as a housewife back in my suburban Long Island home. I could come and go pretty much as I pleased, buy what I wanted with my own money, work in a job that I picked, and I decided how I would perform that job, but the freedom, the real freedom just wasn't there. I did, after all, work for someone. I did work for the Geisha, for Herb Button. I still wasn't, my own boss.
So I moved on. I had a substantial amount of money saved, enough to get me started, enough to get me an expensive apartment and a complete new wardrobe of fashionable clothing, but mostly, I had a chance to begin again my search. It was out there -somewhere-I knew. All I had to do was Sad it. Find it!
Logically, the next step after the Geisha would have to be something that provided me the kind of money I was used to, the taste of freedom that I had savored, and the important need to do for myself. To be my own boss. In a sense, the final step of my liberation. I became a prostitute.
And that to me was freedom. A real, working freedom. I made all my own decisions. I answered to no one, was responsible to no one but myself. If I did not want to work-I did not work. 1 set my own prices, 7 chose with whom I spent my time and how I spent it. If I did not like a man's looks, I said no to him. For the first time in twenty-eight years. I stood up to the world. Sally Bryant did it her own way.
And I was successful. My experiences at the Geisha, coupled with my own good looks, made it easy for me to score. Men liked me because I knew how to treat them. I knew how to make them feel masculine without ever once sacrificing my own independence, my own basic feminity. I knew what to say, how to say it, what to do and how to do it. I capitalized on what I had learned, and in my first few weeks at being a prostitute, I made more money than I've ever made in my life. In the beginning, I tried walking the streets, but 132 I didn't fare too well at that. Mostly it was tiring: hard on your feet. And you met a lower class of John that way. So after the first week or so, I took to working in cocktail lounges. I could sit there all night, drink my drinks leisurely, and make my selection with the same kind of simple ease. If the barman hassled me, I simply went to another bar. Believe me, there were more than enough places in L.A. for me to sample before I risked the chance of returning to one I'd already worked in.
And, if I chose to work during the daytime hours, I'd discovered that hotels and business areas are a good place to meet horny men with money. Men on vacation or on business trips who were looking for a little illicit fun, or executives out for a long lunch, with money burning a hole in ther wallet, and a hardon they didn't know where to stick. Hotels and the business areas during the day, bars and cocktail lounges during the night. That's how I met Sidney.
Sidney was an executive, one of ten or twelve Vice Presidents of an advertising company. He was about forty, a little paunchy, unhappy with his job and unsatisfied with his wife. I met him in an elevator.
I used to go into the building where Sidney worked, before I knew him, and hang around in the lobby or ride up and down on the elevators looking for someone with whom I could score. It was a fairly easy thing to do. I simply wore one of my more sexy dresses without a bra, and half the men in the building would be falling over their feet just to get a glimpse. I've met several men that way, and, in fact, I've even made love to a company president in his private office, right in the building.
I was just getting onto a crowded elevator when I noticed Sidney,. I'd seen him before, on the elevators, and he always gave me a strange, searching look, as if he just wasn't quite sure about me or what I was doing there. I noticed the looks, smiled at him for encouragement, but waited for him to make the first move.
He did, finally. I watched him come down an elevator, the same one I was about to get on, and he saw me. Something flickered in his eyes. The crowd came out of the elevators, Sidney included, and he disappeared. I waited for the crowd of ascending people to get on, then I got on, and then, just as the door was closing, someone else pushed his way on. It was Sidney.
He stood next to me, sort of facing me, and I could feel bis cock through Ms pants, pressing up against my thigh. He had a harden. I smiled inwardly, and leaned towards him, pressing the erection back against him. He licked his lower lip nervously, and then I felt something brush against my thigh and cunt. It was Sidney's hand.
I smiled back at him, and pressed even firmer against his erection. His fingers grazed the broad mound of my cunt. I nodded, and his hand closed over the mound. I pressed down parting my thighs, and Sidney nearly had a heart attack. We rode all the way up to the roof, with his hand on my cunt, and his cock against my thigh. A half hour later, we were in a hotel room.
'That's wild, Sally,' he said, kissing me. We were sitting on the edge of the mattress, and Sidney had his hand up my skirt, on my cunt. 'That's wild.' His finger pushed into my wet box, and I pushed 134 down around it, savoring the pleasure. I guessed that 1 wasn't probably a true prostitute; they're supposed to be sexually frigid, at least with their Johns. But I was far from frigid. I still enjoyed sex very much, and all the while I had been at the
