Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance

by Lindsey Bedder

  “Rebecca,” he said, and I paused. His had gone brusque and urgent, like it turned when he was working with his camera. “If we’re going to get a cab back to where we parked last night, we’ll need some cab fare.”

  I stirred my coffee slowly for a moment. RJ had just put himself out there. He was at my mercy, so I let him dangle a little before answering.

  “We can’t take the cab for free,” I agreed. My voice was so soft I could barely hear it. We were playing a game, you see. We had parked at a bar less than six blocks away. It’s one thing to call a cab at 2am when you’re drunk. This morning, the distance was utterly walkable. We didn’t really need cab fare.

  “Randy’s in the shower,” he said, “so he’s out of the picture for the moment… ”

  I filled in the rest. “But there’s always Ameet.”

  RJ loomed closer. “Are you going to be a whore?”

  There, out in the open.

  I was suddenly nervous, and deliciously uncertain. I had been so unguarded with RJ earlier that morning, and I still felt that way. I just wanted to hold him close, and promise him the world for his dreams. But wanting and delivering are two different things.

  “Do you really think I can be as slutty as that?” I asked. “Being slutty will be a big change for me.”

  He gave me a wry grin. “I think you’ll manage, Rebecca. Remember, you’re already a whore. You just haven’t gotten paid yet.”

  He was right, I was already a whore. Sure, taking Archibald’s dick into me was part of RJ’s photo shoot, which meant I was modeling, and therefore cultured and irreproachable. However, Archibald had been working under a different assumption. He’d promised the princely sum of $10 for forty minutes with me. After all this time, after all those fantasies, I’d well and truly sold myself. I’d just goofed up payment process. Live and learn.

  RJ traced his finger over my lips again. I opened my mouth, let him study my lips and tongue. I wanted him to see my mouth as the receptacle it was.

  RJ said, “I want this beautiful mouth wrapped around Ameet’s cock within the next ten minutes. Then I want you to give me ten dollars.”

  I nodded quickly.

  “You know my expenses, babe. You’re going to have to suck two guys a day just for my beer money. Fifty a month for my share of the rent.”

  “Because rent is expensive,” I agreed. “I can aim for two or three cocks a day.”

  “Your mouth is going to be very busy,” he breathed, tracing my whore mouth with his finger. “We’re talking busloads of guys.”

  I fluttered inside. “Invitations sent out on Snapchat. A line of guys outside my dorm room. Special dorm parties where I’m the main attraction.”

  “We can rely on word-of-mouth marketing,” RJ smirked.

  “Hundreds of guys,” I said, a little swept away. “Thousands of guys.”

  “Let’s focus on the next one.” RJ turned me toward the living room and patted my ass.

  “I’ll try to make sure this one pays us,” I whispered over my shoulder. “That’s sort of crucial.”

  Mouthwhore

  There are sexy fantasies, there are sexy games, and then there are sexy lifestyles. RJ was not disgusted and repulsed by what Bad Rebecca wanted to do. Indeed, she and I both had it straight from the source: RJ asked me to do it.

  He wasn’t some guy I was using. He wanted to be my partner in this. A platonic, friend-zoned partner with an intense fixation on my mouth, but a partner nonetheless.

  I padded to the door to the living room, feeling disassociated from the rest of the world. I was so turned on I was almost floating through the air. Reality felt like an erotic dream.

  I couldn’t believe what I was about to do.

  “Heeeey, Ameet,” I crooned softly.

  He glanced up, then stared at me fixedly, maybe in shock. We didn’t know each other very well. He was Indian or Pakistani in extraction, and he had a slight accent, but he came from California. He was a surfer dude like Randy, but he was shy around me. He listened to Bob Marley but he was always studying. He never stayed long when RJ’s friends were visiting, and I was the center of attention. He never watched my photoshoots, or participated as one of my male models.

  I tried to imagine what was going on in his mind. I was his roommate’s female friend, normally just a friendly college girl… but now I was worn out, hung over, totally naked, and glistening like a jism fairy. I couldn’t blame him for staring. Wouldn’t anybody be curious? I didn’t want to waste time acting fake-modest, so I treated the situation like any other photo shoot: I’m the talent.

  I walked in casually. “You’re already studying? In the morning?”

  He gulped, his eyes round. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Oh, shit,” I laughed. I perched on the couch beside him. “We were out partying late last night. It got crazy.”

  “I know, I heard you fucking that guy in Randy’s room.”

  I didn’t correct him and tell him it was a photo shoot. It even gave me a little thrill to let him think the worst. I glanced at the coffee table. “Those are Jack’s pictures!”

  “Yes, they were all spread out this morning when I started to work. I hope you don’t mind, I sorted them into the different shoots.”

  “That’s the way they should be, Ameet. Jack was probably showing them to a buyer.”

  “Oh, he’s selling them? That’s great.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when he told me. Some fraternities, a few clubs around town, even a few private buyers.” I grinned. What was good for RJ was good for me. “Did you like them? The pictures?”

  He dragged his eyes off my chest and nodded.

  I slid to the couch next to him and we looked at some of the sets. It doesn’t take a girl long to learn that talking about herself is the best way to put boys at ease. This time, though, it didn’t seem to help. He remained tongue-tied, stilted. Maybe he was nervous because I was still messy with cum. Or maybe he was nervous because I was naked, and leaning against him with my forehead on his cheek. I forget about personal space sometimes, even with guys I don’t know.

  More likely, Ameet was nervous because RJ now stood in the doorway like a latino viking. He was damp from a quick shower of his own, and wore a brilliant white contrasty towel wrapped low on his hips.

  “Ameet can’t get enough of your pictures,” RJ said. “He wants to make a website for you.”

  “Why, Ameet, you big faker! All this time I thought you were ignoring me.” I playfully mussed up Ameet’s hair. He liked that, flushing darkly, so I gave him a hug. It was a proper, modest side-hug, because, you know, all the cum, and the personal space question. “So you like me after all? I mean, my pictures.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ameet nodded quickly. “You’re my favorite model.”

  RJ grinned speculatively at his roommate. Maybe he liked how cute and blushy Ameet was being, but probably not, since that wouldn’t be manly enough. No, I think he liked watching me run game on this guy. I was like his very own version of the nature channel, as I stalked my prey.

  “Do you want one of these photos?” I pointed at the table so he’d look. Then, in one of my signature moves, I gave him a little kiss on the cheek while he was distracted. He shivered so flatteringly, I kissed him again, closer to the ear.

  “I can sign it,” I whispered.

  He shyly flipped over one of the piles and indicated the photograph he liked best. I’m a model, and very body-aware, so I noticed how he used his opposite arm and kept his nearer arm locked between my breasts. I takes real brains to be a good model, you have to watch men like hawks and pull together hints and clues like Sherlock Holmes.

  The photograph was one of the bigger ones, a glossy 8x10 that had me spread-eagled underneath some frat guy I couldn’t remember. I looked edgy and gorgeous, if I do say so myself. My head was tilted back, my lips shiny and open, a look of ecstasy on my face, my arm muscles bulging.

  “That’s a good one,” I agreed. “Jack
is the best photographer in the world, isn’t he?”

  Ameet nodded, and so did RJ, from the doorway.

  “What do you like best about this picture? Is it my hair? Or my arms? Look at that definition.”

  Maybe it was unkind to ask something that required a verbal answer, but I had to know! He was blushing so heavily now that I worried all his blood was in his face. A shaving nick would jet blood like a firehose.

  “I guess… ” He faltered, so I nuzzled his ear a little. That usually gets boys talking, even the shy ones in my study group. And, if that doesn’t crack the shell, well, my old reliable move is to nibble their ears until the flood-gates open. It’s hilarious, the reactions a little innocent nibbling will elicit. “I guess I like all of it,” he finished. “I like the whole picture.”

  “That’s a boring opinion, Ameet,” I chided.

  “Okay, well… I like how this random guy is penetrating you, and he’s giving the camera a thumbs up.”

  “Uh…”

  He quickly added, “But the thing I like most is how ripped you look. Still feminine, but so defined.”

  “That’s better, Ameet,” I said. Now I was a little humbled by the flattery. “But yeah, it’s true. This picture—I mean, this piece flirts with being a little risqué. I mean, his cock is inside me. The problem is that the condom is visible, and it totally takes the picture out of the moment. That’s a no-no. I should’ve tried to get him deeper in me, to hide the condom.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that,” Ameet said.

  I shrugged, which he apparently liked, because he leaned into it. “I know, but I’m a perfectionist. Oh, and can you believe it—some prude actually called Jack a pornographer when he showed this one in class!”

  He was suitably outraged. “Some people have no taste.”

  “That’s basically what I said in the class.” I grinned at RJ. Good memories. Everybody in class had taken my side. “Do you want me to sign this for you?”

  “Fuck yeah! I would love if you signed it.”

  I’d finally cracked his shell. Watch out, men, Rebecca can open you like a shy college-age oyster! With the silver sharpie on the table, I wrote, Ameet, let’s pose together someday! Licks and kisses, Rebecca.

  “Thanks, Rebecca, you’re my dream-girl. If you ever need anything, just let me know. A website, a moist towelette, you name it.”

  He then handed me a moist towelette in a foil package. I found out later that Ameet never went anywhere without a pocket full of them. I used it, and four more, to clean all the cum off my body.

  Ameet followed every move like an eagle, and against my expectation, my clean-up turned a little sexy. He started helping, and before long, both Ameet and I smelled of rosewater together.

  “That was nice,” Ameet sighed.

  “You’re compulsively neat, and you like girls,” I said. “Did I just accidentally act out one of your fantasies?”

  “Ha ha, you’re funny, Rebecca. Yes, you did.”

  I filed this away as another idea for a photoshoot. I was getting more ideas every day, the floodgates opening, as RJ and I hit our stride. Another idea from that day: RJ shoots me from the street, while I stand in a window cleaning a load of cum off myself, and people are passing by. You can thank his three college neighbors for that one.

  If Ameet thought the conversation was over, and that I’d stand and naked-walk out of the room, he was sorely mistaken. Under RJ’s intense gaze from the doorway, I had something else I wanted to ask him.

  To cover a sudden blush of my own, I leaned even closer. I was thigh to thigh next to him, as well as chest-to-arm and lips-to-cheek. He quivered like a frightened, but not unattractive guinea pig as I breathed into his ear.

  “Ameet, I do have a favor to ask.”

  “Please say it’s the website.”

  “No, Ameet,” I crooned. The badness, the filthiness of what I was about to say… if I thought about it too long, I wouldn’t go through with it. “If I suck your cock, will you give me ten dollars?”

  “Yup.”

  “Just think about it, please—”

  “I said yup, Rebecca,” he said. “Yup-yup.”

  I hesitated. In whore terms, which also happen to be college girl terms, this sale seemed much too easy. “Are you sure you heard me correctly? Do you want to ask me what I said?”

  If possible, he blushed even more. “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

  “I want to suck your dick, Ameet.”

  “I’m glad you said that,” he replied awkwardly. “Do you really wish to suck my dick?”

  “Yes, uh, Ameet, I really wish that.”

  “World’s worst porn dialogue,” RJ commented.

  “Then yes, I will be down for that.” He was blushing furiously, traffic-light red, but speaking like we had a procedure we had to observe. What can I say? In our generation, bad porn dialogue is the universal starting point for casual hookups. And yeah, somehow I think this was Ameet’s first time with a whore. I mean with a model.

  “Do you want to think about it, Ameet?”

  “Fuck no. I have the money. Here.” He yanked a bill from his pocket and waved it. “You can make change, right?”

  “Sure.” I tried a sexy wink, and said, “Or I can owe you.”

  “Of course. We can write an IOU statement. I have a template on my computer.”

  Was this boy really worried about the money, or was he simply nervous? I felt a moment’s insecurity about my rates. Unless he lasted a full hour, I’d be drastically overcharging, in baby-sitter terms.

  “Is $10 too much?” I asked.

  “No,” Ameet said seriously. “I believe that at $10, it already puts you among the cheapest of all the whores.”

  The silver-tongued devil! Somehow, guys always figure out my triggers. If I could figure out how they learned that and bottle it, I’d be rich.

  With a gush of excitement, I impulsively kissed him on the mouth. He kissed back without hesitation, and even pulled me in for another when I broke away. My friendly little tongue-kiss turned into a hot, two-minute make-out session.

  I didn’t expect to like it, but I did. Ameet wasn’t a pro, like me, but he was an enthusiastic amateur. So far, my first effort at whoring—first sober, conscious effort, at least—wasn’t much different from closing time at the bar.

  As for RJ, he was smiling so big, the whole bottom of his face was white in my peripheral vision. The rest of him, with his dark skin, simply blurred into the shadows behind the doorway. His floating, brilliant smile was like a cheshire cat with a nasty imagination.

  Honestly, though, I don’t think Ameet was particularly hot…except now I did find him hot, because he was holding money in his hand and he had a dick to suck. I found him strangely compelling, and myself oddly attracted and turned-on.

  Speaking of which…

  I slid around and knelt in front of him. I opened his pants. It was strange to do it not for a photo shoot, but for something sordid and sexual. Ameet and I both breathed hard as I brought my face to his lap. I closed my mouth over his cock, and he sighed. I started slowly, girlfriend style, and explored his size, his shape, his taste, listening to his breathing. My tongue swept over the details of his glans, and he gasped. I learned the heft of his cock, and how it swung, when I moved my head up and down. I wanted this to last, and I wanted to remember everything about it.

  I know my life might look strange from the outside. To the world, I’m a fashionable, friendly girl, popular with the guys. I have a budding career as a model, I’m on top of my schedule, I keep up with classes, and my professors love me. Put it all together, and I’m the kind of girl you can bring home to mother, and then set loose at a frat party afterward, where I’ll carry the room and make your friends jealous.

  But then there’s this hidden, dirty, libidinous side of me that nobody knows about. I’m almost coy when it comes to sex, as you can probably tell. I don’t think anybody has guessed how how slutty I really am, even factoring in
the videos, pictures, and my social media paparazzi. I’ve repressed my whore fantasy for a very long time. When it finally came true, it was exactly as awesome as it was in my first wet dream.

  I had an orgasm when Ameet exploded in my mouth. His cum jetted down my throat and woke me up like an energy drink. As he was still thrusting, I plucked the money out of his hand. I crumpled it in my fist and shuddered with pleasure, just from knowing it was my money now.

  My money from sucking dick.

  Thanks to Ameet’s enthusiasm, it was some of the fastest money I ever earned.

  I folded and unfolded the bill, savoring the cum in my mouth. I’d barely been awake an hour, and I had already serviced two ‘Johns.’ Ameet watched my overflowing lips, mesmerized, and I held them open so he could see better. Then he had to snap a picture or ten on his cell phone. He actually asked permission for this, as if being in pictures wasn’t my job!

  “I totally need to Snapchat this, Rebecca. My friends won’t believe it.”

  “No, mmmm!” It was not easy, talking around the pool in my mouth. “People will get… wrong… idea about me.”

  “Oh.” Ameet looked so crestfallen I almost relented.

  “Just say it’s from a photo shoot,” RJ suggested.

  I nodded.

  “Perfect!” Ameet aimed his phone. “Open wide. Hold the money up, too.”

  And that’s how I was able to sneak a picture of my first whore blow-job onto the Internet, by mixing it in with all the modeling pictures and creeper pictures already available. The world was none the wiser, since it looked legit: grainy and badly lit, and me with a sloppy dumb smile but still somehow sexy. It’s the style that RJ calls ‘mimetic,’ meaning that it echoes real life. I can image search it, find it wherever it turns up, and read what people think about me in the comments.

  When I finally swallowed Ameet’s cum, I immediately wanted to do it again. Another dick. Another worshipful man staring at me. Just one more today. Maybe two. I could squeeze in three, if I tried. I was sure RJ, with all his friends, would be able to help.