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“You can earn a lot of money doing these fuck gigs, Emma. Also, you may want to know that all of my girls absolutely love the sex. Some can’t get enough.”

“Do their husbands permit them to fuck other men for money?”

“Yup. Every one of my girls has a consenting hubby.”

“Are there no single girls, Tiffany?”

“My clients want to fuck married women, preferably ones who have had kids. I have a couple of girls who are lactating and they are in massive demand.”

“Steve loved that too after I gave birth. It was exhausting, but I found it fulfilling too.”

“Shall I sign you up, Em?”

“It seems almost too good to be true, but in my case there is no way Steve will agree to it.”

We hit the same impasse every time this conversation came up. Tiffany, one of my oldest friends, was also the manager of a prostitution ring specialising in providing hotwives to those clients with such proclivities.

The girls were drop dead gorgeous, extremely athletic, and most of them were my friends. They’d discreetly revealed to me that Tiffany was a great boss, and the work was enjoyable.

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I rushed my husband and kids out of their beds, slammed breakfast on the table, dressed everyone, and waited patiently at our front door for them to leave.

As each one exited, I handing lunches, school bags and a kiss with a bonus ass slap for my man.

My phone pinged repeatedly as messages stacked up from my friend Tiffany. When I had privacy, I sat down, composed myself and prepared to be fucked.

They want to cum inside you.

Wearing condoms, right?

No. They want to unload inside your pussy, condom free.

I stared out of my kitchen window in a bubble, terrified of my choices so far, more so for the next one.

Emma?

Emma?

Will you do it, or should I cancel?

My fingers flashed across my phone screen in disbelief.

I’ll do it.

I hate condoms anyway and with four high net worth customers lined up, it was too late to cancel because I needed the cash and they were already waiting. Once one filled me with cum, I knew any further fucking of my pussy would feel better without a condom for everyone.

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“Hey Ella.”

A vaguely familiar face waved enthusiastically at me from across the coffee shop. I ducked, immediately ashamed of myself.

I’d popped over for a sneaky caffeine fix, leaving my boyfriend languishing in our hotel room. I wanted peace, so I ignored her, even when the corner of my eye recorded her approach.

“Ella? Is that you?”

She looked pleased to see me, so I racked my brain, desperately recalling old memories and then, boom!

“Oh god Sasha, I’m really sorry, I didn’t recognise you.”

I loved babysitting Sasha; she was always well behaved, went to bed when I asked and slept through till morning. Her parents paid me well, didn’t come home drunk, and her dad gave me a lift home, with no strings or wandering hands.

When I moved to college, we lost touch, so it was a pleasant surprise to bump in to her at Christmas while visiting my folks.

“Would you like to join me?”

“I can’t stay long. Mom and dad return from vacation tomorrow and I promised to decorate our home for Christmas.”

She sat down for a minute or more, as always happens.