by Angela Blake
That night I went out in town again, to enjoy even more drinks. Work hard during the week and play hard on the weekends, it was the way I lived my life and I didn’t want to stop it anytime soon. I was approached by a girl at the bar. Long blonde hair, tight dress which showed off her amazing body, a body that had breasts way too big to be real. Her make-up was done immaculately as were her nails, eyebrows and the rest.
“Hey, are you gonna get me a drink?” she asked, making sure she was positioned in such a way that I could look down her top and see those large, fake breasts.
“No,” was my blunt reply. She looked shocked, as if it was her right to be bought a drink by anyone that she asked. I took joy from denying her that, but she decided to not be offended and instead try a different option.
“Would you like me to get us some drinks?” Maybe she thought it was a test.
“No,” I said, repeating my answer. She looked at me in bemusement for a moment, trying to work out what to do next. She had the look of a woman who had never received such a rejection before.
“Well do you want to just fuck?” she asked with a forced smile. I could have laughed, and nearly did. It was one of those nights where I made no attempt to hide my wealth. Buying drinks for all my friends, still in my designer suit from the races and wearing a watch that was worth more than most people in the bar could earn in a year.
“No,” I said with a repeated authority. Now she looked mad. Then she thought that she’d just worked out the answer to why a man would not want to fuck a beautiful lady.
“Are you gay?”
If I was able to hold in my laugh before, I couldn’t help it now. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind at this point, to someone who clearly thought the world revolved around her, but the one word answers were pleasing me.
“No,” I said for the fourth time. It was rude, but I was enjoying myself.
The girl stood there for a moment, bemused at why I didn’t want to take her home and wanted answers. But, instead of getting more short answers, she surrendered. She gave a sarcastic, short smile, grabbed her purse and left me alone.
To be fair to her, most times I would have bought her a drink in the first instance and accepted the fucking afterwards. It’s that easy to when you have the money I do. This night was different though; I wasn’t in the mood for cheap thrills and had other things on my mind. Other things that I didn’t want to be on my mind.
I continued to enjoy the night, the VIP section of the latest bar being a honeypot for girls of loose morals, with their eye on the grand prize. Thinking that one thing in my jeans could lead to access to the other. While I often led girls to think they could get access to my wallet after entertaining my penis, the reality was that I always got what I wanted.
It was time to go home, and I wouldn’t be leaving with anyone. The skies were clear, and the air crisp with the cold. I thought it’d be a good night to take one of those long walks home. Except, I couldn’t, not this time. There was a chance I’d walk past Sophie once again and I couldn’t be dealing with that awkwardness. I needed to forget her, and forget her quickly. I hoped by tomorrow she’d be out of my mind. I took a taxi and made sure it avoided the street I had found her on.
Sophie
Insomnia is bad enough when you have a warm and cosy bed to go home to, but out on the streets it becomes even more of a burden. I have always struggled going to sleep on account of thoughts constantly running through my head about my daily worries, so that was magnified by my current situation. I had no current means to check the time. I had a little bit of battery on my phone, but I wasn’t going to waste it on such luxuries as checking the time.
I kind of judged it based on the din of the night, and when it ebbed away. I knew it would be around 3am. I had hoped throughout the day that I would be rescued, but no such luck. Like a silly little bitch I had waited the whole night in the spot where that bastard had found me, waiting, hoping. I couldn’t be more annoyed with myself—how could a silly little whore like me make a man like him want me? Even if I saw him in a bar, all dressed up, I’d have no chance.
My eyes began to drift off, and I left the main street. I couldn’t avoid one look back—maybe he was walking down the street, ready to cross my path again? Maybe, just maybe, I could convince him to take me for another night. He wasn’t there, and I walked on. In the day I had found the perfect little spot to sleep, and I was so proud of myself. It was round the back of a store which offered good protection from the wind and the sky above, with my blanket snugly around me I was as comfortable as possible, trying my best to forget how comfortable I had been the previous night.
George
I woke up and my head was pounding. I hadn’t quite managed to sober up like the night before and my body was paying for it. I thought sleeping it off would be the only trick for this one, but that’s what Sunday’s are for right? A lazy day before the new week ahead. Eventually my head cleared and I was able to check on a few e-mails before settling down to watch a day of sport from the comfort of my own bed. Thankfully this morning I didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of getting rid of a girl. That was always the silver lining to not having sex. Although, I’d still prefer the sex. I’d actually thought of buying a place just to bring girls home too so I could just leave, but that would have been too much.
I wonder how Sophie slept last night? Argh, why do you even care? It was a colder night than the one before, it must have been a rough night. Just as it would have been for the thousands of homeless around the world, and the starving, and the poor. What’s one girl in a world of problems? Why was I trying to justify not helping one person? I know I’m a selfish bastard, I’m quite content with it. As long as I’m happy, I don’t care about much else. For some reason, I kept having to tell myself that.
My high sex drive was in a lower gear the night previously, but I woke up in a new mood, so maybe Sophie was clearing from my sub-conscious after all. There were a few prostitutes that I used, which may sound surprising for a man who can get sex as readily as I can. You can’t try things out on a one-night-stand though, or at least I find it too awkward to ask. It’s fairly routine sex, missionary, doggy, maybe something different if she’s into it and then done. Never really getting what I want.
That’s where the escort comes in, it’s like the difference between eating at home and going to a fancy restaurant. Anyone can cook at home, but it might not be the best food. If you go out and pay for the best, you get the best. That’s what I paid for, the best, and on my terms doing what I like. What did I like? Well I think they call me a switch in the BDSM world, liking both top and bottom.
Sometimes I liked to dominate, others I liked to be submissive. It just depended what mood I was in. With an escort, however, the will to dominate could be quite difficult. Letting a man you’ve never spoken to before tie you up and blindfold you was understandably quite a big ask. I tried to get around this by using the same escort agency each time, so a trust was developed and they knew what kind of client I was.
It was a Sunday night and before the working week I thought I’d have myself a bit more fun. I called the escort agency and advised them of what time I’d be requiring their services. They asked me if I’d like a specific girl. There were a few that I had used a couple of times and knew well, they were discreet and excellent at their job. Sometimes, though, I liked to gamble and ask them to send anyone they thought was right. All the girls there were of the same standard. Impeccably clean, beautiful and incredible at fucking—you couldn’t go wrong.
Most people have a certain perception, but when you’re paying this much it runs like clockwork and it is very professional. The girls can come to you and an onlooker would never know their intentions by looking at them. They always dressed smartly and covered up any naughtiness lurking beneath.
At the required time there was a knock on the door and in she came. It was a girl that I had never seen before, and she told me that she was new to the company. I didn’t
know what kind of experience she had, but she didn’t appear as relaxed as some of the others I’d used. She had long brown hair and was quite slender.
I led her to the guest room where I had fucked Sophie two nights before. She asked for five minutes to get changed in the bathroom, where she took off her coat, took off her black leggings which were hiding the sexier stockings underneath and changed her flat shoes for sexy black heels. It was a very quick and effective transformation.
She had taken off her top to reveal her lace bra and panties. She approached me, giving a gentle kiss before lifting my top over my head. She then took down the jogging bottoms I was wearing and placed my cock inside her mouth. Here was the difference: she was using her tongue in all different directions, changing the tempo and looking me in the eye. You could tell she was a professional.
I placed my hand on the back of her head, as I was in the mood for a bit of domination, and she took it off immediately, which I found slightly annoying. The blowjob was great though, but I wanted to get going with the sex.
“I have some handcuffs and a blindfold, are you okay if we use them?” I asked.
“On you, sure, but not on me,” she said.
I felt like asking her to leave right then. It was that feeling when you want something specific and nothing else will really do. I was disappointed, but since I was paying for her time, I may as well use it. As I said, I had developed a status with the agency I used where I was a trusted client. No girl ever rejected a bit of light domination, but she was obviously new and maybe hadn’t got the message.
“Never mind,” I said in a disappointed tone.
She must have felt the slight tension as she quickly showed me to the bed and laid me down on my back. She unclipped her bra to reveal her breasts. They looked real, which was a change, and looked a beautiful sight as she climbed over me. She guided my cock into her pussy and was soon riding me. While the pleasure was obvious, I was laid there with a quite empty feeling, like when you pay for an expensive meal and it disappoints. This wasn’t what I was looking forward to, and she wasn’t Sophie. I’d had much more fulfilling sex that night with a novice that I’d picked up from the streets.
I loved sex, however, and I was still having a good time. Usually I liked to stretch the time out and get the full hour that I paid for. In this instance, however, I just wanted to have my orgasm and move on with the rest of the right.
I was going to have my pornstar ending, which she was happy to oblige to as she once again sucked my cock until I finished over her face. While the sex was usually great when you paid for it, there was no connection and it was never the greatest turn on. The girl went to get cleaned up before emerging from the bedroom.
We exchanged pleasantries before I saw her out of the apartment. I’m sure she was nice but I’d be making sure that I never had her again. I was left feeling disappointed and reminiscing about the sex I had Friday night. There was a new work week ahead and it was time to get to bed. I looked out of my window and the weather looked terrible, like I felt. I wondered how Sophie was doing and I wondered why I cared. It had been a crazy weekend, and I was looking forward to the comfort of my warm bed.
Sophie
I could have cried. Wait, no, I was crying. I had closed my eyes after looking ominously at the sky above; the air was thick and it felt like there was a storm coming. I was okay though, I had found my perfect little spot again underneath the protruding roof at the back of a shop. The wind was howling, but it must have been blowing behind me as I could hardly feel it. As I went to sleep the rain had started to fall. None of it had been reaching me however, and I'd felt quite smug about it.
When I opened my eyes, however, the water that would soon be falling from my face was the least of my issues. I may have had shelter from the rain falling directly from above, but no such protection from the flood that the rain caused. I woke up in a puddle, a layer of water that had crept under me and soaked everything. I found the nearest park bench and just sobbed. What could I do? I couldn’t go anywhere looking like this.
How can anyone live like this? Maybe I was just shit at it. I’d spoken to people who had been homeless for years—how did they cope? I’d only been doing it for a few weeks and I was desperate. I hatched a plan for the rest of the day. There was a local gym which had a coded entry. I walked over from my soaked gloom and did some faux begging by the entrance. It was a Monday morning and the gym was fairly busy. As soon as the next person went in I looked across at the keypad and remembered the code that they had put in.
After a few more minutes of mulling around the door, I couldn’t wait any longer. I put the code in and entered the gym and headed straight for the showers. I was quite proud of myself—maybe I was getting to be quite street-smart after all? I put my bag in a locker, my clothes on the radiator and headed into the shower. There were a few people that saw me, and it must have been obvious that I wasn’t a gym regular just by the state I was in.
The shower was one of those where you had to push a button and it releases the water for a few minutes, warm water which unfroze my body from the hell it had been subjected to the night before. It felt like I had pressed that button hundreds of times, which still didn’t feel like enough, but at least I was warm now. I could stay here all day.
“Can you collect your things and quickly leave the premises please?”
Reality soon hit, though to be fair I thought it’d be a lot quicker that someone realized I had no right to be here. I sunk down in the shower and sat down, not wanting this to end. The button eased its way back and the shower stopped. I didn’t have a towel, and I just wanted as much of the water as possible to leave my body before I got out.
“Do you have a towel?” I cheekily asked. I was getting used to that. I was quickly coming to terms with the fact that nice and polite doesn’t really work when you’re homeless.
“No, can you get out please?”
This was a gym, they had towels, and they wanted to get rid of me.
“If you get me a towel, I’ll be out of the building in five minutes.” Fair enough, I thought, and they did to. A towel was quickly thrown over the cubicle and I was able to dry every inch of my body.
I opened the cubicle to an extremely stern-faced woman who look very unimpressed at my existence.
“If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m calling the police.”
I could see things from her point of view: I was a nuisance. I didn’t want to be a burden, I was just trying to survive. I couldn’t help but laugh though—the police? You really think in my circumstances a police caution is anything I would be bothered about? Please. I picked up my clothes from the radiator. They were still damp, but no longer soaked through. I picked up my bag and quickly left, followed closely by the stern-faced woman.
Thankfully the storm had cleared the air and the day was much brighter. It was back to a day of begging, going on the library computers and trying to find a spot to sleep that wasn’t so susceptible to flooding. I was getting into a daily routine: first up was the begging to try and get enough money to buy food for the day. I went to check my phone to see if there was any messages from the jobs I’d applied for. I’d made sure there was enough battery to check such things but it wouldn’t turn on. I had left it in the bottom of my bag and it had become a victim to the flood. The day had gone from bad, to worse.
I contemplated getting a new phone with the little money that I had saved up in my bank account, but that would leave me with no back-up plan if I was in desperate need of food. Not starving was more important than finding a job, so the decision was pretty clear. Maybe it would work again when it dried out a bit? I seemed to be spending all my time living in false hope. Just like with sleeping, the homeless find their own spots to beg, so I perched myself back at mine.
I was there for an hour or so when a black saloon car pulled up on the road, a woman lowered the window and looked directly at me. I wondered if she was from sort of news station reporting on the homeless
or some sort of charity worker. When she fully left the car, though, I could see that she was neither of those. She had shiny, polished black heels on and was dressed in a suit that looked immaculate. Her hair was smart and her make-up was perfect.
As she approached me I looked around to make sure it wasn’t anyone else’s attention she was trying to grab, but no, I was the centre of her attention.
“What is your name?” she asked in her perfect English accent. It wasn’t quite rude the way she said it, but it was quite abrupt.
“Erm... Sophie.”
“Come with me,” she said, not giving an indication as to why I should. It was the kind of situation where, under any other circumstances, you’d ask a lot more questions, but I just thought I’d follow instructions.
I got into the car and immediately felt awkward. It looked brand new and had fine beige leather seats. My clothes were damp and dirty, and were clearly going to mark the pristine leather. The woman didn’t seem to care, however; she was typing on her phone as I wondered what the hell we were doing.
“What size are you?” she asked, breaking her attention away from her phone.
“Size of what?” I said back to her. I didn’t really understand what she wanted.
“Shoe size, waist size, bra size and dress size for now.”
For now?! What the hell was I doing and who was this woman?
“Why do you want those?” I asked, hoping to find out why I was in a car that looked more expensive than most houses.
“I’m not here to answer questions, you are. Sizes, please?” she said.
