Grabbing my clutch we walked out of the bar area his arm around my waist, mine over his shoulder. I could see eyes following us out, I heard the catty...comments. I must be a high class hooker taking a john up to his room. That thought somehow excites me. I’m a prostitute, a whore, a slut selling my body to a Black john to use me any way he wants. I find being a Black Man’s tramp heart stopping, titillating. I’m his slave for the night. In the elevator we wrap our bodies around each other and. You see how men look at me, how some even approach me the very first time and assume I'll fuck them. I could stop if you wanted me to. Would you miss my little stories? We could always find other kinky ways to fuck."She was dressing as we talked, and I had hoped when we paraded back through the hotel lobby to check out that she'd wear the same outfit she wore the night before. Instead, she had packed a fitted, copper-colored fall blouse and a pair of skin tight blue jeans. The blouse hugged her. More

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