‘May I leave now?’ Tess was on the sofa with her favorite jazz CD playing. It was the 1985 cut of Wynton Marsalis at the Met. She was wearing a cr...pped black cotton tee that showed a few inches of flat tummy and full-length plaid cotton pajamas. Conservative, yet youthful with out looking aggressive. That should pacify an eighteen-year old, she thought. When the knock came at the door Tess though she knew what to expect but when the door opened she was forced to rethink everything she thought. It felt so good and I looked down at my pussy, my lips swollen and glistening with my wetness. Even though I had been fucked wildly by my lovely husband two hours ago, I was still not satiated. I had a date with my old lover Jerome in two hours, so I savored my free time, pumping myself with my huge toys. I pulled the dildo out of my ass and guided it up to my twat. I rubbed the tip around my already stretched out cunt and began to press it in between my red pussy lips, stretching myself wider. Otherwise, drop it by the shop and I’ll show you around if you’re interested.’ ‘Are you looking for an office manager?’ she asked. ‘No. Not an office manager. But you never know. I may know of an opening that might suit you … if you were interested.’ Again, that semi-stare of hers, like she was trying to measure me … or figure out what I was up to. At that moment, I was doing the same thing with myself. What was I up to? ‘Okay. Thanks,’ she said, putting the card in her pocket. Again, we. Cheeks rubbed as Lonnie had her face next to Leslie’s and against the leather seat. No kissing between hookers, the same unwritten rule as with customers. This was sex, not love. Leslie could feel Lonnie’s thick cunt lips on her own. It was wet down there. The white girl grabbed the black girl’s buttocks. Lonnie was moving against her, bringing a good feeling to both of them. Lonnie was horny allright. Leslie smiled as she felt the black hooker come all over her shaved cunt. Leslie pulled her.