Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting (5 page)

“How long are you in town?” he asks.

“A couple more days.  Wanna do this again tomorrow?”

“Hmm...maybe.  I'll call you if I have the time.”

Maybe he does like me.  Weird.  He bolts out the door and I pick up the hundreds.  Fast money. What do they say about that?  Easy come, easy go?  The other day, one of my bush-living mentors was giving me a whole lecture about the evils of money and how it makes people change, especially if it is the wrong kind of money.  Then he shrugged and grinned so that his lips pulled in against his toothless gums.

“Eh, money never stuck to me anyways.”

Please, money, stick to me.  Stick to me and fucking breed and grow and multiply. 

I really can't remember his name now.  I would have to look back at my email.  We'll call him Kevin.  He's a night stocker at a local store, and he wrote me a sweet note about truly sharing a lovely experience.  I can't call the store when it's closed, so he brings me his pay stub to show he really has a career that's not locking up pretty ladies.

When I first see him my heart sinks – he's my little sister's age, bearded, tattooed.  In this town where everyone knows each other it's almost certain that someday I will run into him in a social situation.  Oh well.  It helps to be a hermit.

His mouth tastes amazing, and he's a great kisser.  He does that thing where he sucks in my bottom lip. I love that thing.  Lately I've been reading explicit reviews from other states, (in Alaska law enforcement scares the shit out of everyone and reviews are never explicit) and I've resolved to offer more of a Porn Star Experience.  Great reviews always include references to great sloppy blow jobs.  So when he sits down on the bed, I rip a condom open with my teeth, which he thinks is awesome but it's really because my hand that's been on his cock is covered in slippery lube.  I roll it on with my lips and pull his whole cock into my mouth.

It's the perfect size -- big enough for good fucking, small enough for sucking without jaw pain.  I hum while I go down on him, moving my tongue the opposite of my lips until he pulls me off, gasping that he doesn't want to cum yet.  Do I want him to lick me, he asks?  Fuck yeah.

At first he just licks around the edges of my labia, which does nothing for me, but I encourage him in to the sweet spot and he licks and nibbles until I cum, my hips pushed up into his face. 

“Damn, you're good,” I pant. 

What position does he like?  Him on top.  I'm so excited to have him inside me, but it's disappointing when he does push in.  I don't know why.  We have a good connection, I'm highly aroused, he's a good size...maybe it's the shape.  Soon he's sweating like a sprinkler on top of me.  I try giving his chest little kisses to make him cum faster, but there's too much sweat.  He finally rolls off me and says he can't cum with condoms.  Will I just give him a handjob?  Sure.  I play with his balls and work his cock until he cums all over my tits, and then I make my sexy blow job face and rub it in and he says, “Oh, fuck.” 

After the cuddling, he says it's the best sex he's ever had in his whole life and that he definitely wants to see me again, as long as he doesn't have a girlfriend the next time I'm in town.

Before he arrives I realize I don't know anything about him.  He is polite and literate.  He sent an email with his screening site ID and preferred appointment time, which is rather a miracle these days.  That's all I know, his name and that he has one provider okay from a lady in Florida who appears to be a real whore with plenty of reviews.  Just in case I check against a bad client website.  I don't see him listed there, but while I'm there I make a report on my last guy.  There are only a few of us here who use this site, mostly touring ladies just passing through.  This is my first report.

I click through the new reports.  In the big scary city a strange man came to see a woman from California.  He showed her his oil field employee ID card for screening, but then he started asking strange questions, like a cop.  Can I have a massage?  I gave you this much money, so now you'll have sex with me, right?  How much for just a blow job?

She told him no, she wasn't a licensed masseuse, she could only give back rubs.  She moved over to the other bed and said I'll masturbate over here and you masturbate over there and we can talk dirty.  He got angry and she went to the door, pulled it open, and three state troopers and an FBI agent stormed in demanding to know where her pimp was.  They put her in handcuffs and told her there was no way a woman could get to Alaska and run a business on her own, so she must have a pimp.  Finally they said they didn't have enough evidence and let her go. 

“Alaska is crazy,” she concluded.

Informants.  Informants.  I have to remember to be wary of them, too.  That's how law enforcement did the sting on all the massage parlors a few months ago.  They set up surveillance and made guys turn informant to avoid charges.  Then one day, after months and months of surveillance and informing, undercover cops went into each place and arrested the women for felony sexual assault and prostitution because they touched the officers penii.

By the time John calls from the parking lot, I'm all fired up about cops and laws and the government and I've forgotten my presession meditation again.  He comes in and I thoughtlessly go for a kiss.  It's too much, too soon, an awkward moment, and I cover by leading him into the room, making bubbly conversation.  It turns out I know exactly who he is.  He works on wildfires, and he was around last summer for the fire near me.  I talked to him on the phone a few times when I thought my cabin might burn down, but I don't tell him that.  We lie with our clothes on, caressing each other and talking about the river.

He slips my bra down off my shoulder, soft and sweet, and I arch my nipple towards his mouth.  He sucks it in and flicks it with his tongue, sending waves of body joy down to my toes.  Yes.  Good sex is what I want.  He rolls over and kisses his way down my stomach, over my thighs, between my legs.  Fuck yes.  I push up, grinding my clit into his teeth, and he sucks it.  My whole body wants to melt in one juicy explosion, but I tell him wait, I want to cum with him inside me.  Besides, why am I the only one with no clothes on here?  He laughs and takes his clothes off.

Every place I kiss him makes him gasp in pleasure.  My favorite.  I lick and kiss and stroke my way down, down, down.  He moans when I suck the head of his cock into the condom, and then his whole body shivers as I lick up and down, running my tongue around the head.  Yes, this is going to be some good sex.  Ooh, he says softly, deeply, as I suck him all the way in.  Perfect.

What's your favorite position?  I ask him, and he says girl on top, maybe reverse cowgirl to start.  I wink and tell him his cock is too big for reverse cowgirl.  Really, I'm just bad at that position, the penii always slip out.  I climb on and he has another one of those perfect penises that goes right to my G-spot.

I lean down, kiss his neck, and flick my tongue over his ear while we grind into each other.  Fuck, this is good.  He gasps when I lick his nipple, frantic with pleasure, as our hips jerk together quickly in tandem.  He wraps his arms around me, and I slide my hands under his shoulders to pull us even tighter.  We are nothing but skin and sex.

“Tell me when you're going to come,” he pants, breathless.

I lean up so that we are looking straight into each other's eyes, my breath on his lips, his breath on my lips.  I grind my clit slow and hard into his pelvic bone so that his cock hits my G-Spot and see the orgasm building in his face.

“Right...now.”

Tall John is his username on the phone sex site, where he's been calling me for three years, but I still wasn't expecting him to be so tall in real life. He’s the first one ever to discover that double identity: hypnodomme, hooker. He sent me a message on a screening site I use.

“Hi, this is Tall John…I was so surprised to see your escort ad…”

Now here he is. I remember there’s something irritating about him, but couldn’t say what.  His history shows a total of $400 in earnings over three years, five phone calls, and some videos purchased.  Not bad.

I stand on tiptoe and give him a long peck on the lips. His mouth tastes gross. Then I lead him to the couch and I sit in a chair that swivels in front of him, just like I do in my hypnodomme videos. He says his wife retired in the bedroom nine years ago.  He doesn’t say he loves her and doesn’t want to hurt her like most guys do.  He says it like of course I should hate her guts. Now he just wants me to take control and use him however I want.

“I notice you keep staring at my big, beautiful breasts,” I say, my voice slow like birch water dripping down from a tree.

His eyes lower and his pupils dilate a little. “Yes, Goddess. They’re so…beautiful.”

“I see you’re well-conditioned from watching my videos…” I giggle. “You’re already starting to go under, aren’t you?”

His breath slows and catches, suggestion powerfully at work. “Yes, Goddess…I didn’t know…if it would…work…in person…but it is…”

I tell him about how our brains processes all experiences the same way, whether you experienced them directly, watched them, saw them on teevee, or read or imagined them. Really, your mind can’t tell the difference between these experiences, so it is as if my videos and our calls took place in real life. Then, I point out his twitching eyeballs and deepened breath, loose jaw and floppy lips.

“It turns me on how deep you’re already going,” I say. This is conversational hypnosis, the art of the slow, inevitable mind trap. Checkmate, I win.

It does turn me on how slack and limp he goes. Being in control. Now I can do anything I want and he won’t do anything except for lie there and follow my words.  It’s all safe, which makes me wet and that’s kind of fucked up, but that’s where I’m at.

I do the three deep breaths induction, the progressive relaxation technique, the deepening visualization, and then I wake him up and put him back under twice as deep. My words are magic. I wake him up again and tell him to stand. He moves as through a fog and I pull his pants off, then his shirt, and lay him on the bed. He’s so tall and his hard cock is short and shaped like a triangle. It's pointy at the tip, and so thick at the bottom I don’t think it’ll fit in me.

I wake him up and put him under three more times. I always do things in threes, because it makes the subject think there is some magical reason that I always do things in threes. Seriously. Then I take him down five times as deep three more times. I have two hours and I’m worried I’ll run out of things to say.

I move up to his head and wake him up again and ask him three questions and then put him back under three times as deep. Finally I feel the gates of whoredom open up to my mouth and I settle in to say whatever comes out of my mouth. I pet his head and tell him how he’s deeper than he’s ever been before, that this is the most incredible experience of his life, that he is deeper inside himself than he ever has been and he’ll go away with new gifts from his core.

Then I tell him how turned on he is and his triangle cock gets harder. I play with it for a little bit and then condom up and climb on. I’m still all tingly and tender from the three hours of great sex I just finished, so when I rock back and forth and play with my clit it’s hard not to cum right away. Instead I tell him I’ll count down from 50 to 1 and then we’ll both cum together.