Free Politics. Escorts. Blackmail. by Pynk Page B

cheeks.
    “You’re the best,” she told him.
    His reply was “No, you are.”
    And as much as they were in sync in the bedroom, their after-sex time in the bedroom never came. As usual, he left right after they finished. They never did the cuddle, spooning, and pillow talk bonding. It was understood and it was all good. She knew he just wasn’t that into her. And she just wasn’t that into him, either.
    Besides, she had anticipated it and had made an appointment for Mr. 11 to call at three in the morning from Manchester, New Hampshire.
    Jamie had left at 3:02.
    “Hi.” Mr. 11 whispered as usual, careful not to wake up his wife.
    “You ready?”
    “I am.”
    “You got that pretty dick in your hand?” Money asked, sounding phone-sex-operator erotic.
    “I do.”
    “Good boy. You know I wish I was there with you, licking your balls with a tongue scrub while you stroke that pretty dick. Watching you watch me suck your ball sac and teabag you, bringing my tongue down to the part where your balls end and your asshole begins. Inserting my finger in your ass and finding your spot while you feel your blood racing and your dick filling up faster and faster, looking at me like I’m a dream. Like it can’t be real that you could feel so damn good.”
    “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He sounded anxious and horny.
    “Don’t say anything. I know you can’t talk. Just listen to me get you off like you like it. I don’t get to do this much anymore now that things have changed for you. But baby, you are my favorite and if I was your woman, I’d put you to bed by swallowing you every night, and you’d wake up with me between your legs, sucking you off with a good-morning hello, giving you my wet, warm mouth to swallow you down. I’d leave the covers over my head so you wouldn’t even see me, you’d just look down and see someone going to work to please you, then you could lay back and fantasize about who it is in your mind. I want you to grip that cock in your hand and imagine me sitting my juicy pussy on that cock bareback, grinding on your dick while you squeeze my ass tight and shove yourself as far up into me as you can. Imagine someone else in the room, maybe even a man, sucking your nipple and then kissing you while I ride you. I know you’d like that. I know you brought that shit up before. I know you’d like a dick in your mouth while I ride you. He’d straddle your face and he’d watch your lips stretch along his dick while you’d feel me behind him, jumping off of your dick and then taking it into my mouth, tasting my own juices. I’d hear you moan and I’d hear him moan and just as he would say he was about to come, your cum would ooze into my mouth.”
    Mr. 11 moaned and grunted, then moaned again. His next grunts were three small ones in a row, deep and fast. “Ugh, ugh, ugh.”
    “Yeah, that’s it. That’s how you like it. That’s how we do it.”
    “Ahhh.” He panted and gave a sigh. Then, as if he recovered that quickly, he simply said, keeping his low tone, “Nice. Gotta go.”
    “Ciao, baby. Be good.”
    He hung up.
    Money sent a text to her booker. Done .
    She said aloud, “Hell, I might just switch to phone sex. At fifteen hundred a pop, that’s the quickest, easiest job around.”
    Two minutes later, the booker called Money.
    “Yes.”
    “Mr. 11 just called. He’ll be in town soon. He asked for an out-call, but with a guy this time.”
    “Okay.” Money was not surprised.
    “And he’s asked for a black one. You think Kemba?”
    Money replied right away, “Oh no.”
    “Not even gay for pay?”
    “No.” She paused. “I’ll work on it. I might even bring in a bi guy. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this request. I’ll let you know. Bye.”
    Money had gotten her own tune-up, made some money, and had added a new item to her to-do list: Getting Mr. 11, Kalin Graves, the mayor of Philly who was running for president, a bi guy.
    But she hadn’t forgotten about Romeo. Keeping him