Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting

by Burns, Tara

  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.”

  REAL HYPNO

  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.

  “50…I know you want to cum so bad…it’s so hard to control yourself with a Goddess using your cock…49…but you absolutely can’t cum until I get to the number one…48…and I’m going to tease the fuck out of you…and keep you right on the edge…for a very long time…47…”

  It’s hard, but I manage to hold out and keep talking without cumming until I get to one, and then we do cum together. His orgasm is small and quiet like a gasping fish with not many gasps left. I roll off and throw the cum-filled condom on the floor. 30 more minutes. I can wake him up when there’s 15 minutes, that way he can get a shower if he wants, but it’ll still feel like getting two hours of trance.

  I tell him he’ll remember all the good feelings, but he won’t actually remember anything that’s happened. He’ll remember getting here and starting to go under, and he’ll remember waking up feeling amazing. Then I run out of things to say so I wake him up.

  “Goddess…” he intones. “Would you…put me back under…and get me off…or…you know…however you want…to use me…”

  I roll my eyes and put him down in a light trance so he’ll remember and jerk him off. Asshole.

  That’s the story of how I made over a grand in a few hours.

  MORE BALLBUSTING

  “Room 226, he texts, “off the elevator to the right. I can't wait to serve the Goddess. Be discreet please, there are coworkers about.”

  I check my toy bag and swing it over my shoulder, very purse-like, like I'm traveling and that's my big tote purse. I come to this hotel all the time, walk through the lobby and get on the elevator. Then exactly an hour and 15 minutes later, I get off the elevator and walk back through the lobby. It's the kind of place where smiling, uniformed people stand around and open the door for me, ask if they can help me with anything. and how is my day and can they carry my bag? It's hard to tell if there's a smirk lurking under the smile of the guy who opens the door for me when he says, “Seeya soon!”

  In the elevator, I check the text with the room number one more time and slip the phone into my bra with the condoms. I'm wearing this long dress I got at the thrift store with banging lingerie underneath. If I hadn't left my gun in the van, I'd make a really good comic book superhero right now. The elevator dings open and I walk down the hall. 222, 224, 226. I knock lightly on the door and it swings slowly inward. I push i
t open and step through while Tom scrambles to his knees, his hands clasped in front of his face.

  “Oh, Goddess,” he says. “Oh, Goddess you're so beautiful. Oh, Goddess.”

  “Stay.” I barely glance down at him as I walk to the table and unpack my bag. Whips, paddles, varying sizes of dildos to stick up his ass, clothespins, and rubber bands. Last of all, I pull the condoms out of my bra. I slowly turn away from the table, eyeing the rest of the room. Baseball on the teevee, turned up loud to cover the sounds he'll make while I'm hurting him. His ropes and leather straps arranged on the dresser with decorative fans of twenties splayed out around them. I scoop up the money and put it in my bag.

  One thing about nice hotel rooms is the nice mirrors. I look at myself in the mirror as I pull my dress down a little, then up a little, admiring myself. Really, I'm checking that the sea sponge up my twat hasn't let any blood out, but to Tom I'm just examining my beauty.

  This is where I grin and turn towards him, letting my dress fall. Superheroine powers activate, I think to myself as he grins and babbles about how beautiful I am. I glance back at the mirror. I wouldn't call this one of my more stunning days. My gut is poking out in a way somewhere between cute and not so attractive, I'm not wearing any makeup, and I'm covered in mosquito bites. I guess the overall effect is rather stunning, though.

  I sit in the fancy chair that almost looks like a throne, and beckon him over with my finger. He crawls fast and clumsy, scraping his knees on the carpet.

  “Get the coconut oil and rub my feet,” I tell him.

  I've been training him to rub my feet the right way, to really dig in with his thumbs. He's definitely learning. I lie back and close my eyes, let all the tension from dealing with my family and the hospital all morning melt away. This is pretty awesome.

  “Now rub my back,” I tell him, and I step to the bed, pulling off my bra.

  “Oh, Goddess,” he breathes. “Oh, your ass. Your ass is so stunning, Goddess.”

  I grin. “I know.” It actually is. Stunning because I never really had an ass before, no matter what I did, but then I started doing one-legged squats and grew one really quick.

  I sprawl, my legs just ever so slightly apart, and clap my ass slowly.

  “Ooh, Goddess.”

  He crawls up and sits on my legs, rubbing coconut oil in and knots out of my muscles. The weight of him on me feels good.

  “Oh, Goddess, may I kiss your ass?”

  “If you do a very, very good job rubbing my back, I might let you kiss my ass, Tom.”

  He leans forward, pushing his hands up my back, and I feel his hard cock against my ass. That feels good, too, plus I can punish him for it later. I wonder how my butthole smells, if he's going to get really up close and personal with it. An hour ago, I washed it with soap, but I've probably farted a couple times since then. Years ago an ass-sniffing connoisseur told me that the best asses smell like crayons.

  “Ooh, Goddess.” Tom digs his fists in right above where my spine runs into my pelvis, just like I taught him last week. He's trying to be so subtle and slow about moving his cock back and forth against my ass.

  I look over my shoulder, lazily. “Quit humping my butt, you piece of shit.”

  He smiles like it's Christmas morning. “Yes, Goddess. Sorry, Goddess. Thank you, Goddess.”

  The thing I like about Tom is that he really gives me both permission and reason to be really, really mean to him.

  “You think you deserve to worship my ass? After humping my leg like a pathetic dog?”

  “No, Goddess. Sorry, Goddess.” He's staring down at his hard-on, looking genuinely confused.

  “I should sit on your face and smother you with my perfect ass, but you don't deserve it.”

  “Yes Goddess. Sorry Goddess.”

  I'm sitting up on the corner of the bed now and he's still standing in front of me, staring down at his throbbing cock. It looks kind of nice. I reach out and stroke it. “Real” dominatrixes aren't supposed to do this, but what the fuck, it's supposed to be about me, right? If I feel like petting his cock, I will. I dip my middle finger in pre-cum and swirl it around the head. He gasps. I run my hand back down to the base of his cock and gently cup his balls.

  “Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, thank you Goddess. Oh Goddess...” he's chanting.

  I squeeze. Just a little at first. Then more.

  He gasps. “Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, ohGoddessoh!”

  Just before he tries to step back, I let go and swirl my fingers up and down the shaft again.

  “Oh Goddess, oh Goddess...”

  I pet his balls with my other hand.

  “Oh Goddess, thank you Goddess...”

  I make a circle with my thumb and index finger and twirl around the head. Then I squeeze with my hand on his balls. The harder I squeeze the faster I jack his cock, with lube now.

  “Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, OH Goddess, thank you Godddess OH!!! OH!!! Goddess I can't take it!!!”

  I let up with the squeezing a little bit and pull him closer to me by the balls.

  “You absolutely can take it, Tom,” I whisper. “You know how I can tell?”

  “How Goddess?” He whimpers a little and I laugh.

  “Because you are!!!” I let go and punch him lightly in the balls.

  “Thank you! Goddess!”

  “Now bend over!”

  Spanking, for Tom, is the main course. It's also a challenge for me to always leave more marks and bigger bruises, to hurt him more than the other dommes. I grab one of the leather straps and start with back-and-forth slaps, figure eights. Sweet little stings.

  “Thank you Goddess, thank you Goddess, thank you Goddess...”

  I step to the side so that I can bring the strap down harder. I like the way I look like this in the mirror. Not pretty, but pure and strong and mean. I use more strength with every stroke until he's jumping and twitching away from me.

  “Oh God,” he groans.

  I stop.

  “What did you say? There's no fucking gods here!”

  I dig my fingers into his love handle to hold him still while I whip him as hard as I can with the other hand. He tries to crawl away, but I have him by the fat roll and pull him back.

  “Oh Goddess, thank you Goddess, oh Goddess I can't take it!!!”

  “You are taking it, motherfucker!!!” I make the next couple strokes even harder, but then I lay off a little. Hit a couple new areas. Maybe I shouldn't be quite so aggressive.

  “Oh God,” he groans again.

  I stop again. “You're really starting to piss me off with this God shit,” I tell him before I change whips and really start ripping into him.

  “Sorry Goddess, thank you Goddess, oh Goddess, thank you...” He tries to crawl away again, but I grab the fistful of fat and drag him back. He grabs the pillow and buries his face in it.

  After a while, I stop feeling so angry, so I stop whipping him. This is great therapy. This is what Susun Weed would call “A” Anger. That means you feel it right now and you express it right now and just get it all out. “B” anger is more delayed, stewing, passive-aggressive, then there's “C” anger for childhood issues, and it just keeps going.

  I knee him lightly in the balls.

  “Face down ass up!” Maybe I can exorcise some of my “C” anger this way.

  He crawls up on the bed and kneels on all fours while I pick out a dildo. It's my vibrating blue one, which is new for him. Usually I use the black one or the giant purple one. His safe word is “black,” and one time he yelled it at me and I said, “No silly, this is the PURPLE dildo,” for a second before I remembered his safe word. I pull a condom over the blue dildo and walk behind him.

  “I told you face down!” I crack the leather strap over his shoulders and he drops to his elbows, his face in the pillow again. I drizzle lube up and down his ass crack and he moans.

  “Ooh Goddess, thank you Goddess, thank you Goddess...”