Hired for Her Pleasure Read online

  HIRED FOR HER PLEASURE

  Bonnie Dee

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Copyright © 2011 by Bonnie Dee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  Hired for her Pleasure

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  Chapter One

  Monica stared deeply into magnetic blue eyes as she rode the swell of orgasm like a surfer on a curling wave, trying to make the sensation last. Her breath panted rapidly in and out of her parted lips and her body writhed on the bed. Oh God, it had never been like this before with anyone. Never so strong or sweet or all encompassing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the escalating waves coursing through her. Higher, higher, higher and then…release. She was cut loose, falling weightless, timeless, bodiless until she landed back on her bed with a spasm of her entire body.

  Monica gave a long, quiet sigh of relief. Her hand stopped moving between her legs and she opened her eyes to look at the handsome face in the movie poster on her wall. “Thanks for the inspiration, buddy.”

  Her inner thighs were damp. She sighed and reached for the Kleenex box, wiping up before she rolled over and got out of bed to start another day.

  Cereal rattled into her bowl, dry cat food into Amber’s while the tabby wound around her legs and meowed. Monica watched a morning talk show as she crunched down the cereal and breaking news as she walked several miles on her treadmill. A long shower and a little clean up around the house came next before she booted up her computer for the day.

  She stared at the blank page on the monitor and took a long sip of coffee. There were plenty of articles she should be working on, several of which were due soon, but she wasn’t in the mood to tackle any of them. She stared at the flashing cursor and thought about switching her computer theme for a change of scenery. She minimized the page and gazed at the wallpaper. The perfect pecs, steel drum abs and rigid cock of the naked male model she’d dubbed Bruce greeted her. She decided she wasn’t quite ready to trade him up for a new face.

  “You get a reprieve, Bruce,” she informed him. “I’ll leave you up till next week.”

  She tapped the mouse and called up her blank page again. Still white and empty. The computer popped up a reminder of an impending deadline for the “Firm and Fit” article which she hadn’t yet begun. Monica grimaced and clicked the notice closed. Screw fitness. She was in no mood to focus on boring topics this morning. Instead, she began to type.

  He is sandy blond, the ends of his hair bleached lighter by the sun because he’s a...

  Monica stopped to think. What was he today? A construction worker? A lifeguard? An archeologist? No.

  ...a surfer. He has the broad chest and long, lean build of a swimmer. He spends every spare hour at the beach in the bright, hot sunlight, his body a part of his surfboard as he rides the waves. He loves the outdoors but at night he’s looking for some indoor entertainment. At night he comes to me, body still radiating heat from a day spent in the sun. Warmth pours off his tanned skin as my hands stroke the silken ridges of his stomach, his sculpted chest and powerful shoulders. He looks down into my eyes. His are as blue as the summer sky under which he spends so much time. He tells me how he thought of me today and couldn’t wait to do this, then he covers my mouth with his. I open beneath him like a flower, my petals unfurling at his bright touch and I feel how much his sunlight is drawn to my dark night.

  “Too much.” She deleted the last sentence.

  His tongue teases at my lips and slips between them. I taste the salt of the ocean and welcome the incoming tide of sensation. Our kisses are fevered, as if it’s been five years instead of five hours since we were last together. One of his hands cradles my neck while the other slides down my back to cup my ass and knead lightly. He pulls me hard against his groin so I can feel the ridge of his erection beneath his loose swim trunks. He almost always wears them, as if he might drop everything at any moment to go catch the perfect wave. I have to share him with the sea, but right now, he’s all mine.

  He grinds against my crotch, letting me feel how much I arouse him. He surrenders my mouth after one last deep kiss and asks me how I want it and where. I consider having him carry me upstairs and lay me on the silken sheets of my bed or perhaps drawing a scented bath to wash the salt from his skin—Monica smiled thinking of her actual tiny bedroom and crappy bathtub.—but instead I tell him right here is fine.

  He resumes kissing me frantically, hands roaming everywhere. He fondles my breast through my blouse then unbuttons it and removes my bra. When my breasts are free, he kisses the creamy skin of my plump, ripe...

  She reached up and squeezed her A-cup bosom, then backspaced.

  He kisses over the soft flesh until he reaches the flat circle of my aureole and the tender bud at the center. Looking up at me with a mischievous grin, he leans in and envelops my nipple with his mouth. He sucks hard, pulling and releasing over and over. The tugging draws a tight line all the way down to my crotch. I moan and thrust my chest toward him.

  Her nipples felt tender and fevered as they pressed against her bra cups. The mental stimulation of her fantasy was almost enough to urge her toward another orgasm. Monica read what she’d written so far then began to backspace, blotting out the paragraphs character by character. When she was done it was as if the blank sheet had never been touched. Erotic fantasies wouldn’t pay the bills. She needed to get some serious work done before the morning slipped away from her.

  She clicked on the folder where she kept her works in progress and scanned all the partially finished projects she should be working on. The trust fund her grandmother had bestowed on her was generous, but not enough to keep Monica solvent without additional income.

  She opened the article about children’s TV and internet habits and read what she’d already written about the statistics and proposed remedies for electronic addiction. Basically it boiled down to unplugging the kids and sending them outdoors and spending more time engaged in family activities. Hard to say anything new about a topic that had been beaten like an old horse, but she typed a few more paragraphs and brought the horse across the finish line. One assignment completed. A quick edit and then she emailed the article to the online publication which would pay her a pittance for the words she’d wrestled out of thin air.

  Now for that “Fit and Trim” thing… But instead, she opened another blank page and her fingers flew on the keyboard as images translated to words which poured onto the screen.

  The escaped convict forced me to my knees with a rough hand on
my shoulder. He pulled open his jeans, exposing the dark hair covering his groin. His cock was hard and huge, veins standing out along the shaft and the head a violent red. It thrust menacingly at my face. I feared it, feared him, yet part of me wanted to swallow that hot, throbbing length, to know at last the texture and taste, the very essence of a man.

  “You want to suck it, baby?” he asked.

  I was on my knees in front of him with my hands tied behind my back so he knew damn well I would suck it whether I wanted to or not. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and moved the engorged head closer to my mouth, offering--not quite demanding. A pearl of pre-cum slipped down the smooth head. Unconsciously I leaned forward as if to catch it on my tongue. I was horrified by my situation yet a secret part of me was aflame with desire.

  He held my head steady and brushed his cock against my closed lips. I opened my mouth to protest--or so I told myself--and he pushed inside. The salty musk invaded my mouth like the man himself had invaded my home. Then, without him prompting me do it, I began to suck.

  The doorbell rang. Monica jumped in her chair and hurriedly minimized the document before answering the door.

  Her mother swept into the house like the Queen of the Bronx, and enveloped Monica in a hug. “Sweetie, how are you?”

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?” It was Wednesday and only ten o’clock in the morning. Showing up unexpectedly midweek was not Julia Brennerman’s usual behavior.

  “Nothing. Why would you think that? Nothing is up.” The tone of her voice and the repetition of the word “nothing” assured Monica there was some drama afoot.

  She ushered her mother to the dinette in the kitchen and set about making fresh coffee. “Come on. What is it?”

  “I told you, nothing, dear. Oh, honey, I don’t drink coffee any more. Got to watch the caffeine. Do you have herbal tea?”

  Monica went to the cupboard and pulled out a selection of tea boxes then placed two mugs in the microwave to heat. “Spit it out, Mom.”

  “I told you—”

  “Nothing, I know. But last time you came rushing in here without calling first, the nothing turned out to be you’d found out you had to have a hysterectomy.”

  “All right.” She brushed back her curly hair. “Maybe it is a little something. You know how your cousin Barb gets those discounts at the travel agency she works for?”

  “Oh no. Don’t even go there.”

  “Hear me out, sweetheart. Hawaii. This summer. Your dad and me and both of you girls. The ticket prices were unbelievable. Your father and I want to do this for you and Lisa for an early Christmas present for next year. Surely you won’t refuse a Christmas present?”

  “Mom, what part of ‘agoraphobic’ don’t you understand?”

  “Yes. I understand. But your therapist said you should start making little forays outdoors.” She indicated with her forefinger and thumb the tiny increments Monica could take in progressing back into the outside world. “You could start by working on your garden. You used to love your garden.”

  “I like my window garden just fine.”

  “Maybe another day you could take a walk just to the edge of your yard, and then maybe down the block. By summer you could be tanning in the sun on a beach surrounded by cabana boys with leis.”

  Monica took a deep breath, determined not to snap. “I appreciate the offer. It’s very generous but it’s not going to happen. Lisa can bring a friend to use the extra ticket. Now I have to get back to work. I can’t talk about this with you anymore.”

  “I haven’t had my tea yet.”

  The timer rang and Monica pulled the steaming mugs from the microwave. “You’ll get your tea, but promise not to bring up Hawaii again. You can tell me about Aunt Helen’s back troubles or how annoying dad’s snoring is. You can even tell me about Barb’s fiancé and the wedding plans, but you won’t bring up traveling.”

  “Of course, dear. Do you think I’m insensitive? I can tell when my girl is upset and I won’t mention again the great discount we got on the tickets or how your dad has dreamed about having a family vacation like we used to when you girls were little.”

  “Good.” Monica thought longingly of her dream man, whoever she might invent today, waiting for her just a click away in the confines of her computer. “So, what color are Barb’s bridesmaid dresses?”

  *

  By the time her mother left, Monica’s morning was shot. She wasn’t the slightest bit interested in finishing her articles and even the lure of imaginary boyfriends or the nameless criminal who always wanted to tie her up had palled.

  She entered the seductive world of the internet, where there was always something to do to distract a person from her priorities. She watched some amusing videos and surfed a little porn then she browsed both the legitimate dating services and the seedy escort ads. Her attention was caught by a man in formalwear holding a single red rose. He smiled at her from the screen as if he had a secret to share.

  Need someone to escort you to that corporate dinner? A partner to dance with at your cousin’s wedding? Someone with whom to share a quiet, intimate evening at home? Your dream date is available 24/7 at Labors of Love.

  A quiet evening at home. What would that entail?

  The site design was conservative and tasteful. More information and links took up the parts of the screen not occupied by Mr. Perfect Teeth and his flawless red rose. It was a cut above other escort sites Monica had visited and she wasn’t sure sex was even on the menu at Labors of Love. It was certainly less threatening than the blatant prostitution she’d seen advertised elsewhere. Could she actually do this, hire a date for a “quiet, intimate evening at home”?

  She drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment then reached for the mouse and clicked on the link that led to the catalog of providers. Instantly her screen was covered with smiling men’s faces and bare chests. Not to say all the men were shirtless, but most of their shirts were at least open to show their physique and the kind of sculpted bodies they possessed were clear from that glimpse of flesh.

  Monica scanned faces, names and descriptions. There was square-jawed, All-American Mark, who loved moonlit beach strolls and giving full body massages in front of a crackling fire. David, with amazing cheekbones and almond eyes, was a trained ballroom dancer who would give private lessons in the art of movement. Travis loved poetry and literature and would explore any subject one desired. He had beautiful dark skin and huge biceps. Yuri’s steely blue eyes were captivating. His bio said he was a Russian immigrant and gave the impression he was former military and would be happy to discipline as needed. The implication from the wording of the bios was that sex could be part of the full escort service.

  Monica lost track of time gazing at the handsome eye-candy and wondered how Labors of Love had secured such perfect male specimens. When she skipped to the rates page, she learned how. The base fee for an hour’s time was high budget. These guys were obviously meant as companions for the wealthy. Credit cards were accepted because it was a legitimate business enterprise. Labors of Love employees were being hired as escorts, not sex workers.

  She needed to stop gawking and start working. A homeless agoraphobic would not be a pretty sight. Her cursor hovered, then Monica clicked on the candy counter one more time.

  Halfway down the second page she came across a face that was neither smiling like a Ken doll nor pouting like a model. He was merely staring at the camera with an expression close to surprise, as if the photographer had walked into his bathroom and caught him about to get in the shower. Tousled, dirty blond hair tumbled down his forehead over wide, pale blue eyes. Light stubble roughened his cheeks and jaw. His mouth was absolutely kissable with a full lower lip and a sweet bow in the upper. A tribal tattoo encircled his arm, but she couldn’t make out the pattern in the small photo. He didn’t have the air of professionalism most of the other men displayed and had a totally non-threatening, scruffy art student vibe. He looked like the type of person who didn’t worry about hi
s looks and probably wasn’t even aware of how hot he was. This was a guy she could feel comfortable inviting into her home for a casual stay-at-home date with an option for more physical contact to follow.

  She read his bio. “Ryan is a carpenter experienced in wood-craft. He enjoys working with his hands and will fix anything that needs attention in your home. He’s new to our roster but will clearly be in demand by our clientele.”

  She looked at his face again. I have to have him!

  Horrified, she pushed away from the desk, escaping temptation. She couldn’t honestly be considering this. An escort or dating service, call it whatever you wanted it was still prostitution. How could she demean this young man by paying him for sex or even just a simple date? It was both unethical and humiliating. It would be an announcement to herself that she’d given up on the possibility of finding someone the way normal people do and was reduced to hiring her dates online. She could not do this.

  She looked at Ryan once more. Stared at him so long she felt as if his eyes were meeting hers and seeing her. The more she looked the more she wanted him. She was so tired of having no one, no real man’s arms wrapped around her, no heavy body weighing hers down, no lips pressed against hers, no tongue gently probing her mouth or thick, living cock pushing into her. She was sick of vibrators or her own hand and imaginary fantasies. She wanted a real man simply to talk with if nothing else.

  Monica took a deep breath and clicked on the link by Ryan’s name that led her through the process of ordering her date. She was afraid to fill out the profile about her private wants and needs, but she did it. The cursor hovered over the final button to complete the transaction and at last she pressed Send. She’d set the date up for Thursday night. Two more days and Ryan would be hers for one evening.

  The service didn’t request pre-payment. She would finalize the transaction after meeting her escort. There went the birthday money from her parents. When her mother asked her what she’d spent it on, which she would, Monica would tell her she’d enjoyed a little personal pampering, suggesting she’d had an in-home massage or something.