Perhaps "Fact" is stretching it a bit for this story.  It happened a long time ago and is stitched together from bits of memory.  The names are false, obviously.

All the money that I 'earned' was given to charity  including the tips.  So what I  did, I did for free, in the name of research.

My husband Ben had a very good job at…  Let's just call it a bank.  So good that when we married, I was able to give up my job as a hairdresser.  I still did one day a week, to keep my hand in.

But having such a demanding job had a downside.  On workdays he often came home tired.  He commuted, so had to be up early.  Weekday sex was more of a relief fuck for him than passionate, prolonged lovemaking.  As a result of which, I masturbated frequently, sometimes several times a day.  To make up for it, at weekends and on holiday, we fucked like rabbits.

When we met, Ben was a soldier.  A junior officer.  But he was support staff, he never came closer to any conflict than Germany.  He spent almost his entire service career there.

He didn't talk much about it, saying that it was covered by the official secrets act  but he did say that he enjoyed his time in the army and that his experiences there had helped him land his current job.

One day he called me from work and asked if he could invite an old army mate and his new wife, for dinner on Saturday.  I said yes.  I enjoyed having company and was still curious about his army life.

Max and Gina arrived dead on time, I suppose with military precision.  The carried a large bunch of flowers for me and a bottle of Ansbach.  German brandy.  Ben had been out and bought several bottles of German wine and had asked if I could prepare schnitzel and apfelstudel for the meal.  Clearly we were in for a German evening.  Fine by me as long as it didn't include leder hosen.

The meal was well received, plenty of wine was consumed.  After the meal, Ben and Max started on the Ansbach and the reminiscing.  I had never seen Ben drink so much.  We girls were forgotten, we changed seats so that we could chat and left them to their memories.  It was gone midnight when Gina and I poured Max into a taxi.  Ben was snoring on the sofa.  I covered him up and went to bed.

He was very apologetic the next morning and could remember little of the previous evening.  But when I asked him what Lorelei's was, see almost snapped to attention.

"Why?"

He asked.

"Because the name cropped up repeatedly the drunker you got."

"Oh.  It was a place that we used to go to."

"A place?"

He seemed to sigh, as though he had to confess.

"Alright," he said.  "Lorelei's was a brothel."

I suspected as much.  But for some reason, I was angry.  Before our marriage, I had had my fair share, okay, more than my fair share, of men.  I was no angel.  Since marriage, it had been just Ben.  But prostitutes?  Paying for it?  I asked what it was like.  He replied;

"You could get anything you wanted there with no questions asked and no angry split ups.  No strings as they say, live out your fantasies.   What happened behind the closed doors stayed closed."

I became obsessed.  What is the attraction?  Why are they so successful?  We live in an upmarket suburb, but not far away, there is an area well known for it's massage parlours.  There are several.  On the following Monday morning,  I looked them up on the internet, got the car out, parked where I could see the entrance to one of them and watched.

They opened for business at eleven.  At about half past ten, a woman arrived and went in.  She was followed by three more women.  Just after eleven, the first punter arrived.  About half an hour later he came out again, presumably having been serviced.  I stayed for almost two hours until I was bursting to pee.  During that time there had been a steady flow of men, some stayed for an hour.

I tried to visualise the place.  The photographs on the website gave some idea, but there were no people in any of them.  There were galleries of the girls, mostly with their faces pixelled out.  My body was every bit as good and in some cases, obviously younger.  All were dressed in sexy lingerie.  They were currently recruiting it said.  There was a contact number.

I tried to imagine being fucked by strangers, possibly every hour or even less.  I even considered dressing as a man, just to see inside the place.  Ridiculous of course, but I was obsessed.  I bit the bullet and called them, making an appointment for the next day, before they opened for business.

I was interviewed by a woman in her fifties.  The manager.  Mostly it was her explaining what was expected, how much I would be paid, which was not much.  I would get a fee for each punter, that bought them half an hour of my time, a massage, and one orgasm.  Either by fucking me or me wanking them off.  Oral if they wanted it, but with a condom.  The real money was in the extras, oral without the condom was extra, come in mouth was extra, anal was extra.  I could charge anything I liked for the extras, but she suggested the normal amounts charged by the other girls.

They operated a two shift system, eleven 'til four and three 'til eight.  It was like she was reading the small print, she had done it so many times before.  I suppose that just walking in was enough for her to decide if I was suitable.  The girls started to arrive as the manager showed me round.  Each room had a shower cubicle, a bed and a television for continuous showing of porn.

There was a reception area and a waiting room for the punters and a combined changing room, rest room and kitchen for the girls, three of them per shift.  I was asked if I  wanted a coffee and if I would like to chat with the girls, ask them any questions that I might have.  I did.  They seemed friendly.

Punters began to arrive.  There was CCTV showing on a screen high on the wall of the rest room.  I was told that they could vet the punters in case they recognised someone or simply did not like the look of them.  Then they each went to the waiting room to show themselves.  If chosen, the girl would show them to a room, leave them to shower then return for business.  In each room was a concealed panic button.

I was surprised.  I had expected something dingy and sleazy with the girls being forced to perform.  In fact the place was well maintained, fresh and apparently safe for the girls.  They told me that drug use was not tolerated, the place was even non-smoking.

As I left,  the manager said to call her if I decided to proceed.  I thanked her and hurried back to my car.  I had no intention of going back.  I had satisfied my curiosity, I had visited a brothel.  That afternoon, I masturbated repeatedly thinking about it.  I had satisfied my curiosity about what it was like inside, but still wondered why men are drawn to commercial sex.

The next morning, I called and said that I wanted to try it.  We arranged for me to do three early shifts the following week.  I was to choose a name for myself and bring along my sexiest underwear.  I went out and bought new, taking a long time to choose.  I'm fussy about my undies anyway, choosing something that said 'fuck me,' without being slutty, was more difficult than I imagined.

I presented myself for work, a lamb to the slaughter.  I was so nervous, my teeth were chattering.  I changed into my working clothes and waited with the other girls, sipping coffee.  We saw the first punter arrive.  We paraded for him.  He chose Sophie.  Shit!  That was me!

I showed him to the room.  He was in every respect, Mr Average.  Mid forties, well dressed, average height, average build.  When I returned, he was lying on the bed naked.  Average cock from my first impression.  It was limp.  As instructed, I asked him to turn over.  Did he want oil or talc for the massage?  While he was face down, I removed my bra.

He must have felt my hands shake as I touched him.  I had no idea about massage, I just rubbed his back and the backs of his thighs and asked him to turn onto his back again.  He was now fully erect.  He was a grower, from Mr Average, he had grown to Mr Big.  I rubbed his chest working my way down to it.  It seemed to get even bigger as I gently wrapped my hand around it and began to wank him.

"You have beautiful tits," he said softly.  "May I touch?"

His touch was gentle, my nipples stiffened.  It was going to be alright.

"Do you like it sucked."

I asked.  He nodded.  I reached for a condom.

"Without."

He said.  I hadn't sucked a cock other than Ben's, since we were married.  This man's was bigger, thicker.  I licked away the clear bead at the eye and sucked him in.  He stroked my arse cheeks, eventually slipping his hand inside my knickers, searching for my slit.

"You're very wet," he said.  "You obviously enjoy your work."

This should not have been happening, he was a punter, I was his whore.  But I really wanted him to fuck me.  I stood up and peeled off my knickers, reached for a condom and fitted it to his cock using just my mouth.  I had pracised this with a dildo until I was quite adept.

"How do you want me?"

I asked.

"On top."

He replied.  I straddled his body and guided his cock into my very wet cunt, relishing the feel,  then leaned forward to dangle my tits on him as he held my arse and thrust up into me.  I was very close to orgasm.  He saved me from that embarrasment, breaking my reverie by saying;

"Can I come on your tits?"

We changed places, he discarded the condom, straddled my chest and wanked himself off, directing his generous discharge so that my stiff nippled tits looked like Belgian buns.

It was over, he paid up and left, kissing me on the cheek and saying thank you.  That was not so bad.  In fact I had enjoyed it.  I looked forward to my next customer.

He too was a Mr Average, polite and gentle.  All he wanted was for me to sit astride him with my cunt pressed up against his balls while I gave him a two-handed, oily wank.  His cum ended up on his tits.

Three was less polite and more demanding.  He was younger and I have to grudgingly admit, a good looking bugger.  Bugger was right.  Much more confident now, I removed my bra and my knickers while he was face down, rubbed his back and his firm bum, turned him over, rubbed his chest and belly, fondled both his cock and his balls, even allowed him to push his fingers up my cunt as I sucked his cock.

When I came up for air, he said simply;

"Do you take it up the arse?"

Slightly shocked by his bluntness, I said that I did.  He had me from behind,  ramming my arse hard and fast and coming very quickly.  I had allowed myself to be lulled by my first two.  This was more as I expected.  He was the master, I was servant, he knew exactly what he wanted and would rather pay than persuade his wife of girlfriend to do it.  Now I understood, I was not a woman, I was something to be used.

I had two more on that first day, one wanted me to suck him off and to come in my mouth.  The last was was almost a repeat of number one.  Older and fatter, he fucked me from behind before finishing himself off onto my tits.

I left the place feeling elated, energised.  Far from being used, I felt empowered.  I had what they wanted, I was in charge.  I had not intended to go back the next day, but now I wanted to.  I wanked myself off twice before Ben came home and after dinner I sucked him off.  His spunk, I swallowed.

Tuesday was a quiet day at the office.  I only had four clients, but one of them paid for an hour.  It was a much more leisurely fuck, changing position frequently.  He was the first to finish in the placed designed for it, in my cunt.  Or rather, in the condom.  He still had half an hour left.  We lay on the bed and chatted while he roamed his hands over my paid-for body, his depleted cock building up all the time.  This time I sucked him off.  He paid me and left, leaving a big tip.

Wednesday started well, my first ever punter came back, asking for me and paying for an hour.  He was on his back on the bed, but this time his cock was far from limp.  He had a boner pointing at the headboard.  I asked if he would roll over, he said no.  Instead, he stood, his cock wagging like a dog's tail and said;

"Let me massage you."

I had been told that this was a possibility, a chance for a punter to get his hands on female flesh.  I stiripped and stretched out on my front.  Oh, he was good.  Firm hands soothing and arousing at tht same time.  His hands ran over the sides of my tits where there were squished out by me lying on them.  When he got to the other end, each stroke moved closer to the centre of my bum-crack, eventually he was slipping his fingers into my very wet cunt.

He asked me to turn over and sensuousy treated my tits to his firm but gentle caress.  My thighs were stretched wide long before he got to them, inviting his touch on the part most needing it.  I was desperate for his cock to be pushed into me.  Very un-professional, but then I wasn't a pro was I?  Just a woman who needed fucking.

He opened the petals of my cunt and said softly;

"May I lick you?"

Yes, oh yes, lick me please.  He was as good with his tongue as with his hands, I came very quickly, writhing on the bed.  When I was able to focus, he was kneeling between my thighs, a condom covering his straining cock.  I groaned as he fed it inside.  He must have been as ready for it as I was, it was a short, almost frantic fuck.  He groaned as he filled the condom.

We lay together afterwards, caressing.  His cock slowly recovering.  The second time, he wanted my tits again, but this time he asked me to wrap them around his cock while he fucked them, culminating in a juicy pearl neclace for me

It went downhill from there.  I had four more that day, three of them just wanted something warm to rub themselves off in.  No niceties, no small-talk, just lie down with your legs open, it with the cock, bang bang bang, full condom.  Not even a goodbye.  The last one was worse, he wanted to finish with a facial.

I don't like facials.  I don't mind getting spunk on my face, it's the psychology of it that offends me, I find it degrading.  But he was a big bloke and not at all friendly.  I was scared of him.  I let him do it.

The next day I called to say that I would not be coming back.  But as far as I was concerned, it was mission accomplished.  I had wanted to find out why men paid for sex and I had found out.  Because they get whatever they want.  If that includes friendly interaction, it's available.  If all the punter wants is somewhere to drain his balls, its available.  It's like any other form of commerce, the customer might not always be right, but he's always the customer.

As for me and Ben, I have forgiven him.  Our sex life is better than ever and keeps on getting better.  I now wear very little around the house, weather permitting.  Sometimes just stocking and suspenders and very tarty high heels.  Ben gets anything he wants, often more.  My price is simply more and better orgasms.