Pam raised her mouth and covered Ms. Hagen's twat and she sucked like a vacuum cleaner, her tongue shooting out now and then to flick neatly over the exposed, aroused clit or to shove its irresistible way up Ms. Hagen's cunt itself, ramming through the dilated hole, past the clenching muscles, into the slick interior of the snatch, where a wagonload of thick hot honey awaited her.
Pam sucked, and her mouth was full of cum and sweat and rubbery, quivering flesh, and there were loose hairs stuck to her tongue, too, but she didn't mind them, for she heard Ms. Hagen cry out, "God – nowwww! I'm Commiinnnngggg! Drink me dry! Suck me! Goddddd!"
And her fingers pressed as far as they could into Pamela, and the tips of her fingers seemed to meet, to touch one another, that wall of flesh between them melting away, and the two women clutched one another and rocked together, sharing their passion at the moment of its completion.
The last thought that crossed Pam's mind before her eyes snapped shut and her head went numb was, I'm glad I don't have any more clients this afternoon, because I am Goddamned fucked out!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ms. Hagen lit a cigarette and took a solemn, thoughtful drag. She offered it to Pam who shook her head. "I don't smoke. But I think I could use another shot of that Irish whisky."
Pam sipped at her Jameson's, leaving a thin lipstick smear on the glass, and Ms. Hagen took the glass, drinking from the same place, so that a little mark of her own lipstick blended with Pam's on the rim of the glass. Somehow it seemed very appropriate; but how much more appropriate to merge their lipstick the right way, and Pam turned Ms. Hagen's face toward her own, mouth puckering.
"Mmmmm," she purred as their lips came together, warm, wet, tongues tangling languidly where they kissed.
"Mmmmm, indeed," Ms. Hagen sighed. "You're everything Jack Pendexter promised, and more besides." She slipped her arm around Pam and cuddled close. It felt weird, but so right to be lying there, another woman stretched beside her, hard, apple breasts grazing her flesh as a constant reminder of the sex they'd just shared. And between her legs was still another, memory, a sweet, sweet memory indeed. Pam's cunt ached and so did her asshole, but the aching was the most delicious she could recall in a long, long time. She brought her thighs together, squeezed them upon her snatch, and that aching spread through her body. Beautifully.
"Why did you call me?" she asked at last, while Ms. Hagen blew smoke rings into the air.
"If you still don't know why I called you, perhaps you belong in some other business. Of course, this is just a hobby with you anyway, isn't it?" Pam lifted her eyebrows quizzically. "Isn't it?" Ms. Hagen repeated. "I mean, according to Jack, you're only available afternoons. Which indicates that you have something else to do the rest of the day. Unless my eyes deceive me, that something else includes being a lovely young housewife to some man who has no idea how you spend your afternoons. Don't hold your breath that way. It's bad for your health. How do I know you're a housewife? Well, that white mark around your third finger, left hand, for one thing." Pam looked down quickly. There was a white mark, even though she'd left her wedding ring at home as always. She blushed.
"No matter," Ms. Hagen wept on. "You're very good, easily the best I've ever run into. As Jack said, balling you isn't like balling a whore at all. You don't mind if I call you a whore, do you? I rather like the word. It makes me feel depraved and degenerate when I go to one. And I do, occasionally. Not at home, because there's no need. You'd be surprised how many women in New York City are available, to a woman who knows how to gauge availability. On the road – well, it's harder to find the kind of woman I enjoy being with, so I generally rely on whores. Mmmm, Patricia darling, you're in a class by yourself!"
Pam asked, "Are you on the road often?"
Ms. Hagen smiled and stubbed out her cigarette. "Occasionally. I haven't been here in God knows how long – some company business that was delegated my way – much rather be traveling to L.A., which is nearly as good as New York, but, ah Patricia, I don't feel this was a wasted trip. Not at all." She let her fingertips glide slowly across Pam's nearest tit and she smiled, again to see the nipple struggling to stiffen itself. Her fingers closed languidly upon the nipple and she squeezed till Pam moaned and covered her hand with both of her own, clutching Ms. Hagen to her throbbing breast.
"Are you a lesbian?" Pam asked, wishing the question didn't sound so inane.
"Not really," Ms. Hagen said, toying with Pam's boob. "I prefer women, of course, and I think I perform splendidly with them; but if the right kind of man turns up I'm very willing to spread my legs and let him shove his big hard cock up me. He has to be a certain kind of man, though. Macho, but not gross about it. Handsome, but not too pretty. I met one today and I may give him a tumble before I fly home. Shouldn't be too difficult to get into his pants, especially since he already has reason to be grateful to me."
She sighed, and Pam did too, for a basic realization had just occurred to her. No matter how exciting this afternoon had been – for both of them – she was still nothing more to Ms. Hagen than a casual whore, whose services the older woman had purchased at a specified price. As proof of that, Ms. Hagen was even now talking offhandedly about the possible seduction of some man, caring not at all that a little blaze of jealousy had begun to burn in Pam's breast.
Jealousy? Why should Pam be jealous? After all – she was only a whore, rented out by the hour to anyone who could afford her price. But if she was only a whore, why had she responded so fantastically to Ms. Hagen and her lesbian lovemaking? Why had she performed spontaneously and excitingly actions she'd never really contemplated before in her life?
She looked at Ms. Hagen and found her exquisitely beautiful to look upon. Sex had softened the green eyes, made the strongly chiseled face relax tellingly. Pam's lipstick was still smeared on Ms. Hagen's firm, supple body, and Ms. Hagen's lipstick was all over Pam. If it weren't for Kerry, she'd never wash those smears away, she'd keep them as souvenirs of her lesbian defloration.
Kerry!
"Oh, my God," Pam said suddenly. "What time is it?"
"Almost four," Ms. Hagen said.
"I'm sorry," Pam apologized, dismounting from the bed and gathering up her clothes. "I have to go." She did, indeed. Kerry would be home from work soon, and there was that cocktail party tonight. She'd have to look for an appropriate dress. Oh, shit, there wasn't enough time! She'd make time. And the hundred and fifty dollars from Ms. Hagen was already earmarked for that new dress. God, Pam hoped she could find something before the stores closed and still get home in time to fix Kerry a decent meal. Maybe she'd stop at the fish and chips place and get a takeout dinner. Yes. That would give her a little extra time to hunt for a new dress.
"I'd like to see you again before I fly back to New York, Patricia," Ms. Hagen called from the bed.
Pam turned. For the first time since she'd begun her career as an afternoon call girl she wanted to throw her alias out the window. It hadn't been like whoring when she was busy with Ms. Hagen, and she wished she could be simply Pamela Wilson right now, not some invented creature named Patti Wright. Oh, the hell with it!
"I'm busy tonight," Ms. Hagen added, "but I suppose you are, too. Do you have any free time tomorrow?"
Pam chewed her lip. She'd never worked an extra day before, only her normal Tuesday through Thursday schedule, but this wasn't quite like working. Part of her was unsure, but the other part of her wanted very much to see Ms. Hagen again, and not necessarily on a business arrangement. She'd learned today that her body was capable of a great many new and delightful responses, and she wanted to indulge those responses again, as soon as possible. But did she dare? Was she getting into something she couldn't handle? "Call me," she said. "Leave your number with my service. If I can – if I possibly can…" She couldn't say any more. Tugging her sweater down, Pam went out the door in search of her hat and coat and shoes.