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The Whore of Babylon.

Short story By: AmberLibra
Erotica



Part 2 of Forbidden Fantasies by Amber Libra: An ex-prostitute goes to church and begins a corrupt affair.....


Submitted:Dec 25, 2011    Reads: 636    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


My lover is taboo. He is married. He is a preacher. I am his Whore of Babylon.

I don't what I was doing there. I sat at the back of the church, out of place, the biggest sinner there. Yet he told the congregation that Jesus loved everyone. The homeless, the leper and the prostitute. Although I wasn't thrilled that due to my former profession I was placed in the same category as a leper, I knew that the preacher spoke out of the purity of his heart. A huge heart. It's true, though, in a way, society sees prostitutes as outcasts, and are often treated as such. The preacher was engaging, evangelical, exciting. He told of how when he was eighteen, he saw a sign, two white doves in his garden and he knew. He knew then what his path would be. That was forty years ago. When I came to him I was lost, unloved. I felt that something inside had been damaged, that I was unattractive and used.

I started going to church every Sunday. I knew it was wrong. Of course it was, to go to Church because I was attracted to the preacher. What was this? Was it the devil playing his tricks? Was it something holier drawing me to the preacher? I found my heart quicken, I felt hot and breathless. I moved from the back seats to sit near the front. His wife would eye me with suspicion and dislike yet I knew she didn't think a young woman like me would go for her husband. She thought I just wanted attention. They got a lot of the strays from the street drifting in from time to time, some of them vulnerable and homeless, others with addictions to drink, drugs or gambling.

One Sunday he offered to give me a lift home. He told me how corruption is in every pore of society, everywhere, even the church. I was looking out of the car window. I said, "I know. I know who The Whore of Babylon is." I turned to him and smiled. That's when he kissed me. His enthusiasm spilling over, his passion, eternal.

He cleansed me. He made me feel beautiful again. He made me feel as if I was loveable and that I belonged to someone. He of course, was committing adultery. When he was with me, though, he really didn't care. He said that I made him happy and didn't feel guilty at all.

I confessed everything to him. With every confession, every secret I became unburdened and free. I told him about the last time- the very last client. I'd gone to the hotel. Some three star, old fashioned little place that I'd booked after the guy had called me. When the client got there early and knocked on the door I was in the shower. It was funny because I answered the door wearing a towel and left him to wait and then came back in, a few minutes later, my long auburn hair dry, and in my long black dress and red push-up bra just showing underneath.

The client was lying on the bed, on the granny-style flowery bed-covering, he had the remote control in his hand and was casually flicking through the channels; a big guy, about late thirties, a heavy brow and a strong jaw-line. He'd told the rest of his colleagues that he was spending the afternoon golfing. I laughed again at this. It's not only the prostitutes that lead lives of secrecy, it's the clients, too. He switched off the T.V. He told me to take my clothes off and I joked with him that I'd only just put them on.

The dress slipped off easily. You soon learn to wear clothes that are sexy yet you're able to take them off easily. You don't want to waste their time and money by spending half an hour, untying, unbuckling and unzipping yourself.

I put the condom on. What you have to do is place it on the end of his dick then put your mouth over the tip, then roll the condom down, hey presto, giving him a blowjob at the same time.

We fucked for a while. I was face down, he was a big guy and fucked me hard. I had a chance to look around the room at the plastic flowers in a vase, the oak headboard with scrolls at the edges, a bell to press for room service. He came. He said that was not really what he was into. That's not really why he was there. He said he had a request. Oh, yes? What? He'd paid for an hour, we had plenty of time left. What did he want me to do?

He wanted me to bite his dick.

Still with a condom on, I had his cock in my mouth and he was thrusting it in and out. I don't like giving blowjobs. My jaw was already aching and saliva was dripping down the rubber-clad erection. I kept stopping to give me a chance to breathe, you know, like when you learn how to breathe whilst swimming with your head underwater. He kept telling me to bite him, bite him harder. So, as he was thrusting in and out I started to nip, then sank my teeth further into his dick. "Harder, harder," he ordered, lying back placing his hands on my head, "harder". I bit as hard as I dared. "You're not trying hard enough, are you? That's no good. Bite me harder." He held my head down and I sucked and bit and tasted rubber. It was hard work but he came eventually.

This was the last client. I realised the risks I was taking. How easily the rubber could've split. How blasé I'd become about meeting total strangers in hotel rooms. I remember getting changed into my usual clothes after the guy had left. My clothes felt cheap, like they were falling apart at the seams. I was falling apart. I felt cheap. It's the first time I've felt like that; usually I just felt happy at having made money and high from the sex and company. I couldn't do it again.

The preacher listened. Then he said that he wanted me to wear that black dress. He wanted me to wear that sexy red underwear. He was going to give me the best seeing to that I've ever had in my life.





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