Would it be appropriate for me to introduce myself at this juncture? Perhaps, but as is well known to many people, names give power over things. They ascribe characteristics and limitations to their being. The knowledge of a name in the wrong hands can be dangerous. I’ve been known by a few different names over the years, ones I’ve earned and ones I’ve had forced upon me, but few of them are things that I would still answer to. I’m sure some of them would be familiar, others less so. It doesn’t matter really. I am who I am and so shall I remain. I am not foolish enough to want to rush into a position that would grant people any additional power over me.
Next to death, I’d say sex is the thing that people spend the most time worrying about. At least it’s a little bit less self-pitying. A fair amount of it is actually relevant from the whole survival of the species perspective, but evolutionary imperatives don’t have to require nail polish and fast cars. The vast majority of shagging is something that would be completely ruined by any real consideration of the possible reproductive consequences of their actions. If sex was really for breeding, we wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about blowjobs. Did we really have to evolve in such a way that reproduction has to be linked to pleasure? The implication to me is that people wouldn’t bother with breeding if it wasn’t fun, which is a pretty damning indictment of the species. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with giant pandas. Would it help if they stopped worrying about finding ways to develop successful artificial insemination techniques for them and started focussing on Viagra and sex toys? Get Mr. Panda to wear one of those vibrating cock rings that linger strangely in vending machines in service stations and give Mrs. Panda a butt plug and some strawberry lube, then let them get on with it.
It’s no wonder there’s so much confusion and guilt tied up in the whole business when people can’t fully separate the act of procreation and the act of mutually gaining pleasure. I can understand why some religions feel the need to stick their oar in and try and control what people can do in the name of fun and how they can do it. Carelessness can only lead to discord, but I’d still like to imagine that the people that compulsively want to have sex, y’know, adults, have at least an element of self control when it comes to wanting to merge aspects of their anatomy with each other to generate pleasurable friction. Of course, if that was the case, then things would be considerably more boring from my perspective. As a wise man once said, tragedy is when I stub my toe, comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and drown.
Of course there is also love, the desire for that deep and profound connection with another human being that can seem, if but for a moment, to justify all the pain and sorrows of our existence. Is sex the best way to find it? I can but wonder. It seems like the urge found thus is even more likely to be confused. Those ways we best obtain pleasure are not necessarily the ones best suited to those with whom we should reproduce, or with those whom we feel the deepest connection. Perhaps it is but folly to hope to find the satiation of these things simultaneously with but the one person. The woman you want to fuck may not be the one you want to raise your children, or share your deepest emotions with. Perhaps the man who pays women to sate his cravings is the wisest. He knows what he is getting, and tacitly accepts the limitations of the connection, immediately monetised as they are, just as the woman he is paying accepts that an inevitable part of her trade is listening to the filthy little secrets, the guilt, the truths that no man could ever bear to admit to the woman he hopes will still respect him in the morning, whereas with the whore he has nothing to lose. Her general disinterest in his life and his secrets is his greatest protection in that circumstance. Who better to be honest to, than someone who does not care what you are telling them? Of course, this has been known to backfire on many people. If you work for the secret service or military, then you really ought to have a bit of self control and not tell national secrets to random whores, but a whore that tells tales and names names when it comes to the individual predilections of her clients is violating a sacred trust greater even than that of a priest in his confessional.
Juliette hadn’t intended to become a prostitute, but then very few girls do set their hearts on the trade as little girls. It was just something that she found herself doing, initially justifying it as being an easy way to earn some extra cash, certainly easier than working in a shop, with fewer hours needed to earn more money, and less need to wear polyester polo shirts with corporate branding.
She had found the notice discretely hidden amongst the small ads in the back of the local paper. It said that women of all kinds were needed to work with a select clientele for very attractive pay. At first read it would have been almost possible to convince herself that the work being advertised was something legitimate, but as, with her heart beating fast and her blood pounding in her ears, she started to dial the listed phone number, she knew deep down what she was choosing to put herself forward for.
She had always been a shy girl by disposition, reluctant to express her own needs and desires to her lovers. It confused her at first how drawn she was to the idea of serving men sexually for money, but she couldn’t deny how much the idea appealed to her. It was as if in that moment she had first begun to sense what she had been unwilling to admit before. She had had a few lovers before, and was able to enjoy sex, but it had never seemed the phenomenal experience that she had expected it to be, from what she had heard of others. Maybe she just hadn’t found the right man yet.
“Hello.” A female voice answered. She wasn’t sure if that made it easier.
“Hi… I saw an advert.”
“And?” the voice was stern, imperious even. Juliette could imagine being told to do things by that voice, and doing them without hesitation.
“I’m looking for work. I wanted to apply.”
“Do you understand what the work can entail?”
“I think so.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I don’t think so.”
The woman told her Juliette to meet her at a cafe bar in the town that evening so that they could talk in more detail about the job. She recommended that Juliette make sure to dress nicely for the meeting. Juliette took the suggestion as the command that it really was and spent a long, nervous time selecting her wardrobe and doing her makeup. How did she want to present herself? It wasn’t like she had an array of stunning dresses to choose from. She settled on treating the meeting as if it were a romantic liaison with regard to her décolletage. She didn’t often go on dates, but she was experienced enough to be able to dress in a way that seemed to please men without being too outré.
Despite her best intentions, she was a little late for the meeting. Her nerves nearly failed her as she reached for the door of the cafe to open it. She wanted to flee and forget about this whole idea. Surely working in a shop wouldn’t be that bad? In the end, it was her desire to not disobey the woman she was to meet with that steeled her to open the door and enter the cafe. She crossed the threshold.
It was a dark and chic place, with the smell of rich coffee hanging thick in the air. She was glad that she had taken the time to present herself nicely for the setting, even if she would have looked very out of place had it turned out to be some run-down greasy spoon.
She looked around. There were a few people sat around talking in couples and small groups. She could only see one woman on her own. An older woman dressed in black who was watching her coffee intently as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into it. Juliette walked towards her.
“Hello. I’m Juliette.”
She received the slightest hint of a smile in return.
“Please sit down.”
“Thank you.” Juliette sat down as gracefully as she could. The scrutiny of the other woman made her nervous. She was reluctant to look up and meet her gaze properly.
“How do you do?”
“You have questions, I trust?”
“None at all… not about money, or what the job is?”
Juliette blushed. Of course she had questions. She wasn’t at all sure about any of it, but where could she begin?
“Perhaps you’d rather I tell you a little about it first.”
Melinda told her. Juliette had found the courage to look at her, but now found it hard to focus on her words rather than the details of her form. She was a striking woman, middle-aged certainly, but exactly how old Juliette wasn’t sure. She was dressed tastefully in black, and had dyed black hair and dark red lipstick and nail polish. Her silk blouse was open just enough that Juliette found herself looking into the gap, wondering if she might glimpse something. She had never been interested in other women sexually, but there was something very compelling about this woman to her. Her proximity stirred an urge in Juliette. She wanted to serve and obey her. The details seemed irrelevant.
By the end of their meeting, Juliette had agreed to come along for a shift two nights later. Melinda ran her business from a modest suburban house. It was purposefully low key, and visits without prior arrangement were strongly discouraged. Juliette gathered that Melinda had plenty of personal experience of the work that she now found herself managing and wondered if she still took an active role in it.
The living room of the house was used as a reception area for the guests. There were several comfortable settees and the lighting was kept low at all times. Visitors were brought in here until their choice of girl was available for them and they would be led upstairs to one of the four bedrooms. Most of the time the girls who weren’t otherwise engaged tended to hang-out in the kitchen together and chat.
On her first shift, Melinda introduced Juliette to the two other girls that were working that night, Anna and Sofia. They were friendly enough but her’s wasn’t the first language for either of them and they seemed happier to maintain their conversation in their native tongue. Both seemed very much at ease in this environment, lounging around in a harshly lit kitchen, drinking tea and wearing dressing-gowns over the skimpy lingerie that was their default attire when working. Juliette was both nervous and fully dressed. Melinda hadn’t specified what she should wear tonight and neither of the girls had said anything to her about it.
Usually, it was Melinda that answered the door to visitors and led them into the reception. If they had visited before and had already requested a specific girl, then Melinda would come for her in the kitchen, and leave the two of them to head upstairs. If it was a new client or a regular looking for a change, then the girls in the kitchen were summoned to the living room for him to choose.
Juliette had been sat in the kitchen for about half an hour when Melinda walked in and summoned them. The girls both took a hurried sip of their tea, then slipped off their dressing gowns, exposing ample amounts of soft, naked flesh and headed to the reception, pausing only for a brief glance in the mirror on the wall to check that everything was as it should be.
“Come on Juliette.” Melinda encouraged her. Juliette smiled nervously and got up. She was still holding her coat and handbag. She was dressed attractively but demurely.
When Juliette entered the reception, she saw a man in a dark suit sat on one settee, reclining comfortably and looking thoroughly relaxed.
“Anna, Sofia, Juliette. All lovely girls.” Melinda pointed to them each in turn.
“Yes. I can see that they are.” He took his time looking them over, each in turn. Juliette wanted to hide when she saw him looking at her. She held her coat and bag tightly in front of her, trying to shield herself from him.
He gestured for Melinda to come closer, then leaned towards her to whisper something to her. She nodded and smiled thinly and he beamed. Melinda turned and indicated to Juliette.
“You can leave you coat and bag down here.” Melinda pointed at the door leading to the kitchen.
“Absolutely not. They complete her assemblage delightfully.” The man laughed. Melinda repeated her professional smile, masking her irritation. She pointed Juliette towards the stairs. Juliette nodded and walked over to them. The man drew himself up from the settee and followed her up the stairs. She opened the door of the first bedroom and walked inside. As with all the rooms, it was kept prepared and dimly lit at all times. She put her coat and bag down on a chair and turned to face the man.
“I’m supposed to take the money now…” she began uncertainly. That much at least she remembered from what Melinda had told her.
“Of course. How much?” The man smiled broadly and drew his wallet out from his jacket pocket.
“I…” she wasn’t sure. Of course Melinda had told her but she couldn’t remember.
“It’s okay. I made arrangements with the lady downstairs.” He held a folded cluster of currency towards her. She took it and turned to leave the room, then stopped and reached for her bag.
“Don’t worry. Your things will be safe here.”
“She went back downstairs to give Melinda the money. When she re-entered the bedroom, he was sat on the edge of the bed. He had removed his jacket and tie and placed them neatly on the chair next to her things.
“How should we start?” She asked. She wasn’t sure what to do.
“Turn around, let me look at you.”
She did so, her gaze aimed at her feet.
“Such a pretty dress, such a pretty girl. Much better than those other sluts.”
“He told her to bend over and rest her palms on the foot of the bed, then walked around behind her, delicately lifting the bottom of her dress with his fingers, then raising it to reveal the pale globes of her bottom, bisected by the lacy fabric of her underwear. The first sharp impact of his hand against her soft skin shocked her and she cried out, but he hushed her, his fingers stroking her cheek lightly and tangling in her hair. The second impact was sharper and made her jolt forwards. The idea of telling him to stop didn’t even enter her mind.
Until that night, she had never realised that she could become so aroused from being spanked, or that the feel of her nipples being gripped and twisted sharply could send such delicious shivers through her. He appeared to gain most of his pleasure vicariously through inflicting sensation upon her. Was she even supposed to enjoy what was happening like this?
He did fuck her, but it was almost incidental against the backdrop of feelings that he exposed her to. He came with a series of grunts and moans and he could feel his cock twitching and writing inside her as his cum jetted against the latex confines of the condom he wore. He left her gasping breathlessly on the bed, her dress pulled high up above her waist and her underwear discarded in a ball on the floor. She felt sore, but wonderfully so and spent a few minutes massaging her tender flesh to greater delights before she rearranged her clothes and returned to the kitchen.
Afterwards, when she checked the clock in the kitchen she realised that he had spent at least two hours with her. In the moments it had seemed a fleeting eternity.
She serviced one more client that night. The moment lacked the fire of her first encounter and her later recollections of it were much more scattered but she finished her shift richer and eager to return to the house for more.
He had insisted that she kneel down before him and told her to suck his cock, which he presented large but flaccid too her. She had little prior experience of the method of this finest of feminine arts and perhaps it is because of the irritation that her hesitance caused him that he placed his hands on the back of her head and guided her closer, so that his member was engulfed by her mouth.
She knew little enough of normal practises to be unaware that many in her position of exercising this skill for money would have insisted that his cock be enclosed in latex, and was eager enough to please that she did not protest as he proceeded to force himself deeper into her mouth, even as the motion of his hips and the grip on the back of her head reduced her to but a mere orifice, a receptacle for his motions and in turn, the consumption of his seed. She couldn’t help but gag on him as he took her, but he didn’t seem to mind and she was past having any ability or intention to protest what he was doing to her. If an orifice was what he wanted of her then it was what she was happy to provide for him.
Juliette found that she was able to derive great pleasure from the adaption of herself to best reflect the cravings of her partner of the moment. Letting herself be whoever they needed her to be allowed her to assume the desires of that identity. She could gain more pleasure from the fulfilment of urges that originate outside of herself than she had ever been able to before with those who expected her to be who she really was.
As she became more experienced and comfortable, she found the ability to service more diverse needs. She even learned to appreciate the sensations of being the one in control, at least to a limited extent, but she needed a man that could express himself clearly. If a man wanted her to be a stern dominatrix that would torture and violate him, he had to ask her to do it. The idea of penetrating a man’s anus with a dildo simply never occurred to her, but when bade to do so it became natural and even erotic to her.
She worked at least a couple of shifts a week for the next three years. She was never the most popular girl there, but nor was she the prettiest and those that sought someone who could be vocal and assertive in their debauches were better looking elsewhere. She remained reluctant to adopt the robe and lingerie uniform of the other girls, instead continuing to dress much as she had on her first meeting with Melinda and her first shift there. She became very popular with a few of the clients and was often requested by those who understood her demeanour and proclivities. Most of the other girls only talked about their work in veiled terms, and took offence at the direct description of what they did. Juliette found it immensely pleasing when her clients called her a whore when she was with them. Somehow it made her feel powerful and charged with sexual potency.
She never offered her clients affection, it never even occurred to her that some might seek it. She placed herself at their disposal and allowed them to use her as they wanted. What more could they desire? She gathered from the other girls that some of them were much more clear and specific with their clients about what they required, but she never was. Eventually she learned that Melinda spoke discretely to those clients who expressed an interest in her, explaining what was on offer and clarifying the rates. Apparently it added to her allure in some peculiar way.
Later, when she had moved on from such work and had settled into a duller, less satisfying career and then found herself progressively enveloped by the surroundings of a husband and family, she couldn’t help but look back on those times with something approaching wistfulness. She never told her husband about the pleasure she had taken in being fucked and used by men that were paying her, of how eagerly she had been able to embrace their desires and accept them as her own, but she kept wishing that he would show some of that same sense of assertion, that confidence when they made love, that he had been able to project some of that strength that she could feed on and gain pleasure from. Sexually he was relaxed and tender and his caresses were pleasurable, but she never felt the confidence and aggression that aroused her most.
By the time her desires grew strong enough that she couldn’t resist them, she was much older and found herself looking for men that would want to use her with such arrogance and vigour. It didn’t take her long to find some, even though many men that she approached and made herself available to, proved to possess but a shadow of the self-possession that they showed towards her in bars and clubs when they were alone in a bedroom. She found it hard to tell them what she wanted. She wanted to be taken and used, roughly, even cruelly sometimes. The pain and pleasure combined could elevate her more than simple love, but she couldn’t ask for what she wanted. In doing so she would have been granting her partner the license to do what she wanted him to insist and demand for himself without seeking permission. If he wanted to fuck her, he could. If he wanted to spank her or beat her, she wouldn’t resist. Her every inch was offered to those that would demand it. On those rare occasions that she found a man capable of giving her what she needed, her orgasms were long and loud, driven by screams and moans and consuming her whole being with lust.
We can but hope that Juliette found enough pleasure in the moments that she had to last her lifetime. Should she be ashamed of the manner in which she found she could gain most joy? I think not. Whatever repercussions were her’s alone. I see nothing to judge, as long as she was happy with herself. By all accounts, many women find it difficult to achieve orgasm. I suppose by that reckoning, Juliette can count herself lucky that she allowed herself to make the call that day and allowed herself to discover the path to her joy.