“You want chob?” Under her dark hair, tied up in a bun, her eyes were steel, giving her a menacing appearance.
“Yes. I want to be an escort.”
“You been escort before?”
“Um, not professionally. But as an amateur.”
“You know what escort does?”
“Well, they go out with people who can’t find a date and, um, other things as necessary.”
“You a cop?”
“A cop? No, of course not.”
“We have cop in here alla time, trying to bust us. We run clean operation.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“How I know? Cop lie.”
“If you run a clean operation, why would it matter if a cop comes by?”
She scowled. “Before I hire you, you have to prove you not cop.”
“I’m not sure how to do that.”
“Take off clothes.”
The request startled her but under the circumstances, it didn’t seem outrageous. She stood and unbuttoned the tight blouse, laying it on the desk. The skirt soon followed. The woman came forward and examined her underwear carefully, running her fingers along the edges. Wendy shivered.
“You wear wire?”
“No, I’m not.”
Seemingly satisfied, she returned to her desk. “As escort, how much service you willing to provide?”
Wendy sat down, feeling exposed. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, I mean, not like this.”
“You like to fuck men?”
Wendy colored. “Yes.”
“Women?”
“I’ve never done that. I don’t think I’d be interested.”
The woman nodded. “You clean?”
“Clean? Oh you mean…”
“Yes. All whores tested, every month. Wear condoms alla time.”
“That’s, uh, fine with me.” Actually it was a relief.
“One final part of chob application,” the woman said, moving things around on her desk to clear an area.
“What’s that?”
“You fuck my man here. We see if you really whore.”
Wendy wanted to protest but she felt the urge take over her emotions. “Yes, okay.”
“Take off underwear.”
Wendy slipped off her bra and panties and piled them on her other clothes.
“Now lean over desk. Ass up.”
Oh it’s like that, she thought, and did as she was told.
“Spread leg.” Wendy moved her legs apart and knew the older woman could see how wet she was.
“You must make man happy. You unnerstand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Not about you. You don’t come, too bad.”
“I understand.” She had no problem coming.
The woman went to the door. “Roger!” she shouted.
Wendy couldn’t see but she felt very aroused by how she was being treated—like meat, like a whore. She shivered in delight.
She heard a man’s voice but didn’t turn her head to see who it was. “Yeah? Oh! Hey!”
“New girl. You fuck. Here condom. Make sure she not cop or faker.”
“Sure, Mrs. Tueh, sure.”
Now she turned to see a powerfully built man with an undersized black T-shirt stretched over his chest standing close behind her. He was probably the bouncer, she thought. I’m about to be fucked by a stranger!
She turned away and laid her face sideways on the desk. She heard him unzip his pants and prepared herself for his cock. Wendy felt his big hands on her small ass and wondered how well endowed he was. She jumped when the tip of his cock spread her wet labia. She sighed and tried to settle down.
But something was wrong! The itch wasn’t being scratched! She tried to get up. The man held her down.
“What wrong?” The woman’s sharp voice pierced her thoughts.
“He has to pay me! It doesn’t matter how much. Just something! Otherwise, it’s no good.”
There followed a shocked silence. Then Mrs. Tueh barked, “Give her dollar.”
The man fumbled for his wallet and Wendy felt a dollar bill being thrust into her hand. The relief was palpable.
“Good,” she sighed. “Good.”
He entered her smoothly and Wendy was transported to a high she’d never experienced before. Her mouth dropped open and she sucked in a breath. “Oh god, that’s good,” she moaned. She climaxed almost at once. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the intensity of this moment. It was as if she could feel every vein on his cock.
“Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me,” she panted. “Put it in deep. Fuck me, baby.”
She was out of her mind and she didn’t care. She just wanted to stay in the moment for as long as she could. The bouncer pumped into her and she had two more orgasms before she felt his cock twitch deep within her. She wished he wasn’t wearing a condom—she had a sudden urge to feel his hot sperm splash into her warm and welcoming cunt like it had with Bob. They stayed together for a long moment, Wendy trying hard to cling to the sensation. She was a slut, a whore, a cheap tart.
He pulled out and Wendy immediately felt let down. She wanted another cock, another payment. She lay there unmoving as Roger buckled up and left.
“You hire. You start tonight. You name Brandy. We call, you go to man’s place. You charge one-fifty for blowjob, two-fifty for fuck. We get sixty percent, you forty. They want any funny stuff, charge more. You stop by here to give money every night. No try to cheat!”
“I won’t,” she said. With some effort she pulled herself up and began to dress. Now that she had been a whore, did she really need to show up for work tonight? After all, tomorrow the mysterious O’Grady would remove their spells, wouldn’t he? She decided to worry about that later. For now, she finally felt the relief she had urgently sought.
For most of the rest of the afternoon, Wendy felt good, great even. She shopped, went to the library for some new books and enjoyed playing hooky from work.
By late afternoon however, Wendy felt those old urges returning. She knew if she didn’t go meet a man, she would be pacing around all night, unable to sleep. For a short time, she entertained the notion of visiting Mr. Townbridge again but the idea paled next to what she might experience at the hands of Mrs. Tueh’s customers. The leprechaun was pushing her.
The first phone call came at six-thirty. It was Mrs. Tueh. “You go to Hotel Diablo. Room 356. Meet man. He want you one hour. Regular fuck. Get two-fifty first.”
Wendy dressed in a new miniskirt she had purchased just that day and wore a scoop-necked pullover over it. She had on a bra but didn’t bother with panties. She slipped some condoms into her small purse and left, catching a taxi to the hotel.
Once there, she felt a pang of nervousness as she walked across the lobby. Not because she was going to whore herself out but because she might be stopped by the desk clerk. He ignored her. She rode the elevator up to the third floor.
She knocked on room 356 and it was opened at once by a fat man wearing a large, unbuttoned white dress shirt. His slacks were tight over his ample belly.
“Come in! You must be Brandy!”
“Yes.” She felt the power of the leprechaun within her and it eased her fear.
The fat man tried to kiss her and Wendy turned her head. “Let’s take care of business first, okay?”
“Oh sure.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Let’s see, it was two hundred, right?”
“No,” she said at once. “Two-fifty an hour. How many hours you want?”
“Just one.” He slipped her the bills. She counted them carefully and put them in her purse.
“Okay.” She smiled. “How do you want it?”
“First get me hard then we’ll go from there.”
She unbuckled his pants and eased down his voluminous boxer shorts. His cock was tiny amid all the flab. God, is this what whores do? she wondered. Fuck ugly fat men? She realized, yes, this is exactly what they do. It gave her a litt
le thrill.
She began to suck on his small cock, which barely budged. At least he didn’t smell too bad, she thought.
“Wait,” he said. “It’ll be better if you get naked.”
Of course! She’s not being a very experienced whore! Wendy quickly stripped off her clothes and bent down to try again. His cock stirred and she encouraged it, like a starving woman trying to start a fire in a rainstorm. She kissed and sucked and teased him until his cock speared out at her.
“You want to fuck now?”
“Not yet. I want to spank you.”
Spank? Was that a special service? Wendy didn’t know. She decided not to push it. “Okay.”
He sat on the bed and she lay over his lap, careful not to hurt his cock. She could feel it next to her hip. He began to spank her, the sound loud in the room. It hurt! She wiggled her ass, trying to avoid the blows, but his meaty hand was all over her. As much as it hurt however, her inner leprechaun was delighted.
At last he finished and picked her up, tossing her on the bed. She rolled over onto her back, spreading her legs, even as she winced from the pain in her ass. “Come, big guy,” she said. “Fuck me.”
He loomed over her. She realized almost too late that he would crush her. “Wait! Go easy!” His mass enveloped her and she couldn’t breathe. She hit him with her fists, trying to suck in some air. His cock stabbed at her and she shouted, “Condom! You have to wear a condom!”
The fat man cursed and rolled off her. He grabbed the condom and slipped it on. Wendy felt better but a part of her was disappointed, remembering how good it had been with Mr. Townbridge. Then her thoughts were blotted out when his bulk returned, nearly crushing her. She felt his cock at her slit. He pressed it in.
The man was quick once he was inside her. He pumped a few times and Wendy felt his cock twitch as he emptied himself. Despite the impossible circumstances, she had a powerful orgasm and briefly saw spots before her eyes. The fat man finally rolled off her and she gasped for air.
The room was silent for a time.
“Well, I’d better go.” She started to rise.
He grabbed her. “Oh no, we’ve got a half-hour left. Come, sit on me.”
In the back of her mind, she could hear the leprechaun laugh.
* * * * *
Wendy dragged herself back home at one-thirty in the morning. She was exhausted and sore. She had fucked four men during her inaugural stint as a call girl and it didn’t have nearly the glamour she had fantasized about. After the fat man, there had been the Arab businessman who paid her to dance naked for him for a half-hour before he fucked her. He had paid her five hundred dollars for about ninety minutes work. Then there was the bachelor who was getting married in a week. Why he needed to fuck a whore, she didn’t understand. That was the best gig of the evening, for he paid her full price for regular sex, no funny stuff.
The last call had been the toughest one. She had gone to another hotel room where she was supposed to meet a businessman from Toronto. Instead, she found herself in a room with two very large black men. She had no prejudices about blacks but she did object to being lied to. When she tried to leave, they easily overpowered her. They made her suck them off and ejaculated on her face and breasts. Then they spanked her with their massive hands on her already sore bottom. Finally, they fucked her, their huge cocks spreading her tender pussy to the breaking point. Wendy had the presence of mind to convince them to use condoms by shouting, “Remember what happened to Magic Johnson!”
After two hours they let her go and handed her a fistful of money to keep quiet about it. She counted out six hundred dollars. All in all, she had made sixteen hundred dollars total, of which she got to keep more than six hundred. As she turned over the wads of cash to Mrs. Tueh, the Vietnamese woman smiled broadly at her and said, “You good whore. You make lotta money.”
Wendy didn’t have the heart to tell her she was quitting after tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
Carol submits
Carol sat at her computer, her fingers hovering above the keyboard as if it were a hot iron. She rubbed them against her palms and started again. It hadn’t been hard to figure out what she must do. She knew what sites to look for. She had even visited a few out of curiosity, just to give herself a little thrill.
This time however, it would be different.
She called up a popular BDSM website and began to scroll through it. In just a few minutes, she had identified a Dom who regularly responded to people’s questions. He called himself “Master K”. Steeling herself, she emailed him a quick note, asking for his help in finding a trustworthy Dom in the New York City area. She briefly outlined her desire to “explore” this lifestyle. It felt odd for she was of two minds about it. She imagined that’s just how the others felt before they gave in to their secret desires.
Within an hour he had responded. He wanted to know more. What was she into? Spankings? Bondage? Nipple play? Piercings? Water sports?
Carol wasn’t even sure what some of those meant. She wrote back, saying she was just curious and wanted to go slow. She would work out those issues with the Dom, providing he was gentle and understanding. Dammit, she was thinking, just give me a name and stop asking questions!
He responded almost immediately this time. Try Blue Dom—he’s in NYC. He has links to this site.
Carol looked up Blue Dom’s email and wrote to him, asking for some information. She hoped he would be understanding.
Apparently Master K had alerted him for Blue Dom responded quickly. He gave her his Instant Message address and she contacted him right away.
Yes, I believe I can help you. I frequently work with “newbies”, he wrote. I would only go as far as you needed until you learned what gave you the most pleasure. However my services are not free. He outlined a fee arrangement.
Carol felt vaguely insulted, although his fee was remarkably reasonable. It galled her she’d have to pay to get the leprechaun off her back. She wrote back and agreed. She felt as if she were moving too fast, yet she knew the other women were relying on her. In fact, she was moving too slow, she realized.
Blue Dom told her he could meet her that weekend—three days away.
No! She wrote back at once. Can’t it be today?
Blue Dom: You are in a hurry. Is this part of some sting operation?
Carol: No, of course not.
Blue Dom: Then what’s the rush?
How could she tell him? It could ruin everything. He might object when he realized this would be a one-time event. She planned to be cured by tomorrow.
My husband’s out of town, she lied. And my son’s staying with grandparents. I’m alone now but by Friday, both will be back. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and if I’m going to try it, it would have to be today.
She smiled at her quick thinking. This would explain both her rush and the need for it to be a one-time deal.
Blue Dom: Very well. Meet me in two hours.
He gave an address on the Lower West side. She knew the neighborhood. It was a decent area, full of working-class people. It cheered her a little knowing he didn’t live in Harlem. Idly, she wondered if he was black or white or something else.
Then again, did it matter?
Carol knew her friends would want her to call them so one or more could accompany her and make sure she was safe. But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps each had to experience their inner desire alone. Suzanne didn’t ask for anyone to come to the bars with her when she picked up men. And Diane had fucked that shopkeeper by herself. No, she would have to straighten her spine and do it, despite her fears.
But she couldn’t deny the secret thrill it gave her.
She took a taxi to the address and found it to be a brownstone in a recently revitalized area. She was early so she waited in a coffee shop across the street, her eyes on the door. No one entered or left during the half-hour she sat and sipped her hot drink.
Steeling herself, she walked across t
he street, raised the heavy knocker on the door. It opened almost at once, as if he had been watching her approach. Carol stepped back, ready to run. The man who appeared in the doorway was just an inch or two taller than she was, probably five-ten. But he was solidly built with a thick chest and powerful arms that filled the sleeves of the dress shirt he wore. She guessed him to be about thirty-five, close to her age.
“Carol?” He had a slight accent, possibly European.
“Y-yes.” She wondered if it had been wise to give him her real name.
“I’m Barry. Known as the Blue Dom online. Please come in.”
He seemed surprisingly calm and, well, nice, she noted. He didn’t act like a Dom. She stepped through the portal and watched as he closed the door behind them. Was she trapped now? She struggled to make small talk to calm her nerves. She looked around. They were in the living room.
“You have a nice place.”
“Thank you. I inherited it from my parents. Come, I’ll show you around.” They went from room to room downstairs and Barry acted the perfect host. When he showed her his office, Carol suddenly realized how he had come up with that odd screen name. A large painting adorned one wall—a reproduction of one of Picasso’s paintings during his famous “blue period”. She smiled, visualizing him sitting there, his eyes on that painting. She felt a little more at ease.
They moved on, passing through the clean, well-appointed kitchen and dining room. Carol noted however, that he didn’t show her the upstairs.
They returned to the living room and he asked her to sit. “Coffee?”
“Uh, no, no thanks. I had some a little while ago.”
“You came early.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Y-yes. How could you tell?”
“Well, someone who contacts me and wants immediate action would probably show up early to check out the place, correct?”
“Uh, yes.”
Exotika 08 - Private Daydreams Page 8
