WHORE: A novella of extreme sex and violence Read online

  “A degree? What in? That’s great.”

  “English Literature,” was the first thing that popped into my mind. Not sure why, I hated English when I was at school.

  “Impressive. I didn’t get past college,” he said.

  He should count himself lucky. I didn’t even get the opportunity of going to college.

  “You must be really brave though,” he said out of the blue.

  “What do you mean? Why would you say that?” I asked him.

  “It’s easy for men who book you. They can see pictures of you on the Internet before they make an appointment. Sure the faces might be blurred out but the shape of the girl is enough to see and enough to help them determine whether they’d find the lady sexy. Choosing to be a working girl - you don’t get a choice in who you see. It’s just a question of pot-luck when you open the door. That’s brave. I couldn’t do it. Hard to imagine. Especially the first time…”

  * *

  I opened the front door. My heart was racing as much as it had been when I replied to the man’s booking request; one hour, girlfriend experience. The man had his back to me. He turned around. Older gentleman. Maybe twenty years my senior if I am being generous. Nicely dressed but could already tell he was wearing far too much aftershave. Better than stinking of sweat, I guess. He saw me and smiled. Yellow teeth, nicotine stained. Can’t have it all I suppose. Grateful that my service page lists French Kissing at my discretion.

  “Hi,” I backed up from the doorway and he stepped in, nearly gassing me in the sweet scent of his aftershave. “You found the house with no problems then?” I asked.

  “Certainly did.”

  I closed the door.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  I turned around and jumped when I realised he was standing close to me. He smiled again as he pulled me close to him with his hands around my buttocks.

  “You look sexy,” he smiled.

  “Thank you.” I put my hands on his chest and smiled sweetly at him, “Want to get the paperwork out of the way and come upstairs?”

  My first appointment. I thought it was going to be awkward asking for the cash but it wasn’t. As soon as I felt the stranger’s hands on my body I remembered why I was doing this in the first place. Money. His over-eagerness probably helped me, as did the lack of wanting a drink. Had he wanted some kind of liquid refreshments and started with a ‘normal’ conversation, I may have struggled a little more.

  * *

  “Were you even nervous?” Jon asked me. An unusual infatuation with my working life temporarily made me think he was a journalist looking for a story. It’s only when I remembered this kind of story had been covered thousands of times before that I realised was being stupid. “The first time you saw someone,” he reiterated.

  I laughed and tried to turn his curiosity away from the questions he was asking, “Did you want to be a male escort?”

  He looked shocked, “What? No.” He paused a second, “Why?”

  “Lot of questions. Sounded like you wanted to move into the industry.” I could see from his face that this wasn’t the case. Maybe he wanted to know more about how I ticked before taking the final plunge of actually sleeping with me? Whatever his motives - turning the tables back on him seemed to make him more uncomfortable. Bad move. “I was just teasing you,” I said.

  “Oh. Right. Good one.” He smiled. “So what was it like?” he asked.

  “What was what like?”

  “The first time.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious.”

  * *

  We moved into the bedroom. The client turned to me as soon as I had closed the bedroom door. A look on his face suggested he was keen to touch me and get things started. I was dressed in the finest of lingerie - the best bra and underwear set that I owned - but I could see that, in his eyes, I was already undressed. He licked his lips. I did my best not to shudder.

  “Can’t very well get far with all those clothes on,” I told him.

  The sooner we start, the sooner we finish. Just get it done. Remember why I am doing it. Bills to pay. Cupboards are empty. Credit card debt mounting up. Fired from yet another nine to five job. I watched from the door as the man started to undress. He started with his white shirt, undoing all of the buttons. He took it off and threw it to the corner of the room before starting to undo his belt. In my mind I imagined him to be someone else. A film star. Every time I thought I’d settled on picturing one star, another popped into my head and so it came to be he was flitting from face to face and body to body in my mind’s eye.

  His trousers were kicked over to where his shirt landed, as were his underpants. He was standing there, wrinkles and all, stroking his semi-erect penis as he looked at my body.

  “Where do you want me?” he asked.

  Before he had even arrived and presented himself at my front door, I knew I would never be able to forget him. There was no way I could forget my first client. The smile on his face now - a filthy yellow stained sleazy grin - just reiterated the impossibility of forgetting and pulled my mind back to reality with a bump. Gone are the film stars. Here to stay is the dirty old man. I glanced down to his erection. My eyes drawn by a shine coming from a wedding band on his finger. I tried to put it from my mind.

  “Lay on your front?”

  The man did as he was asked and laid on his front, his head on my pillow. Seeing his head pressed against my clean pillow was the first time I had even thought about the bedding. This was my bed. I slept in it. And yet here was a stranger lying upon it and here we were - about to do a whole lot more. I imagined the sweat dripping from his wrinkled body, soaking the sheets. I imagined his pre-cum now pooling there as he waited for my touch. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it sooner. Too late to worry about it now. From this moment on - this bedding is my work bedding. I’ll buy a fresh set for me tomorrow with the profits from the night - not that there are many profits from this evening’s appointment if I am being sensible. Bills to pay, debts to clear. Stuff them. I need clean bedding. I tried to force the thoughts from my mind as I crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, straddling his legs in the process. He sighed as I leaned forward and started to rub his back.

  “I’m not too heavy, am I?” I asked.

  “No. Not at all. It’s nice.”

  Film star. Johnny Depp. Robert Downey Jnr. Brad Pitt. The man squirmed underneath me and managed to twist himself around so that he was on his back. My touch had clearly had the desired effect. I started rubbing his chest.

  “Someone is pleased to see me,” I smiled. I was conscious of the smile. I had been practicing it all night as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for possibly longer than strictly necessary but I had to make sure people believed it. If they didn’t - they wouldn’t come back and the bills would continue to grow.

  I felt the man buck his body underneath me. A slight arching of his back forcing his penis towards me. I knew what he wanted. I knew what part of his body he wanted to feel my touch upon. I stroked down his chest and gently brushed my fingers over his penis. He sighed again as his cock twitched to my touch. I looked up to his face. His eyes were closed. I kept focused on his expression as I nervously gripped his hard-on with my right hand. My left had gently working his testicles in a soft squeezing motion. He continued to sigh. A smile on his face. Eyes still shut. It was important to concentrate on his expression. I figured some men might be uncomfortable voicing their concerns if you do something wrong but it’s rare that - when someone is completely relaxed – that their expression would hide a sudden moment of discomfort. There was no such discomfort here. I started to stroke up and down harder now, building to a steady rhythm. The man’s sighs matched the strokes. A few minutes passed by and I was starting to get arm ache but couldn’t stop. I read in a book that if you stop - the man’s building orgasm is potentially put back to square one. I just want this over with.

 
“Put it in your mouth,” he pleaded.

  I glanced down to his cut cock. It looked clean enough but I still wasn’t keen. I looked back up to his face. He was staring right at me, an expectant look on his face. I leaned over to the bedside cabinet and reached for a condom. I tore the wrapper off, using my teeth, and rolled it down his penis. I waited for him to voice a complaint; my page said I offer Oral Without Protection at my discretion. To my surprise, he didn’t say anything. Just closed his eyes again as I started sucking. His hands - either side of his body, stretched out - grasped the duvet tightly and didn’t let go. When my head was at the top of his cock’s head, I took a hold of it in my right hand and started wanking it as I flicked my tongue back and forth on his helmet. He groaned in pleasure.

  “Sit on my face!” he pleaded.

  I stopped what I was doing long enough to slide my knickers off. He made a funny noise from his throat as he viewed my naked pussy for the first time. Without further words, I climbed on top of him and lowered myself over his face as per his request. He strained his head upwards, by cranking his neck, and - less than a second later - I felt his tongue against my lips. I put him in my mouth again as I continued the motion of mouth and hand around his penis. As I continued to suck and wank, I tried my best to ignore his tongue inside of me. All I could picture were his yellow teeth. All I could think about was what kind of state was his tongue in? I gagged - a combination of a sudden thrust from him forcing his cock’s head to the back of my throat and the thought of his stinking tongue spreading it’s saliva up inside of me.

  * *

  “Wouldn’t you rather experience your own first time?” I asked.

  Jon shifted in his seat as I ran my hand up his leg and onto his crotch. A gentle squeeze and I could feel that he wasn’t quite ready yet. Too soft.

  “You can touch me if you want,” I purred.

  I took his hand and moved it onto my breast. A little encouragement from my own hand, and he was soon gently squeezing my breast. My other hand felt him start to stiffen where it really counted. He coughed and pulled his hand away. I didn’t move mine as I continued to grope him in the hope of getting him hard. I knew that - as soon as the blood was rushing to his erection - he’d not be as keen to ask questions about the job and more intent with going with the flow.

  “Is that alright?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and put his head back on the settee - enjoying the sensation of my hand rubbing him through his jeans. He was hard now. I slid off the settee and onto the floor in front of him on my knees. I stopped groping him for a second and started working on his jean’s buttons. A professional; it didn’t take long and he was soon exposed. I moved in closer and gently breathed warm air onto his cock. It twitched in anticipation. With no warning he sat bolt upright and pushed me away forcibly. I fell back onto my bum, a bemused look on my face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not ready…”

  He started to adjust himself; putting his penis back into his pants and doing them up again as I sat up.

  “Really? Because - from where I was - you looked ready.”

  “It’s not that. I’m sorry. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

  He stood up and finished tucking himself in. I too stood up.

  “A mistake?”

  “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.”

  He walked out of the lounge door and down the hallway. I stood for a moment - confused as to what was happening - and gave chase.

  “Wait a minute. You’ve paid for an hour. If you’re not ready for sex, we can just talk. If that’s what you want that’s fine.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  He opened the front door and stepped onto my drive.

  “At least take your money back,” I called after him. He didn’t turn back for it though. He got into his beat up old car and reversed out of the drive and onto the road. A quick gear change and he wheel-spun away.

  I don’t recall how many men I have seen in this line of work. It’s hard to keep track of them. I’m not sure how many I have slept with compared to how many I have disposed of and yet this was the first time - ever - that an appointment had ended in such a way. A strange feeling washed over me. I actually felt bad for him. A lad so shy he couldn’t stand the thought of me touching him.

  I closed the front door, wondering what I had done that was so wrong to drive him away. I walked from the hallway into the living room where Jon had previously stormed from his comfortable position on the sofa. I looked out of the window curious to see whether he had turned around at the end of the road and come back - if only for the money he had left behind. Not a soul out there.

  I walked back over to the settee and crashed onto it. I do not necessarily enjoy the job that I found myself doing other than when the appointments end by setting free the clients’ partners but - even so - having someone run out of your appointment wasn’t good for a girl’s self-confidence. Usually - the normal appointments - boost a girl’s confidence more than you could imagine. Here are these men that want to sleep with you. Not only that - they’re happy to pay for the privilege of doing so. And usually - the whole time - they’re telling you how fucking amazing you are. They leave with a smile on their faces and you close the door on them, a smile on yours. Not because of the sexual satisfaction you’ve received - those appointments are few and far between - but because you feel appreciated as a woman.

  * *

  I felt the old man’s hands on my buttocks as I continued to push my sopping pussy down onto his face whilst working his shaft with both hand and mouth. He pushed my bum up so that I was no longer suffocating him.

  “I’m coming,” he moaned.

  I increased both pressure and rhythm until I felt his penis throb in my mouth. He sighed with pleasure as it continued to throb - thick ejaculate filling the teat of the condom enveloping his manhood.

  “S-s-stop,” he sighed. A little laugh. “Sensitive.”

  I rolled off him and laid next to his body; his face next to my lower half and my face next to his.

  “That was amazing,” he laughed. “I needed that. Thank you.”

  He smiled. Those yellow teeth. I smiled back, remembering the amount of practice I had put in the night before perfecting it for moments like this. I climbed from the bed and reached for a packet of wet wipes which were situated next to the condom packet. I pulled one out and used it on my undercarriage. I handed the rest to him. I’ll never forget his smile - his rank teeth - but I can’t even remember his name. He pulled the condom off and threw it to the side as though it were just a piece of rubbish. Fair enough it was - but as I watched it dribble onto the mattress - I couldn’t help but wish he had wrapped it up in one of the wet wipes first. Just as I had wiped myself down, he did the same to himself. When he was done, I took the wipes from him and threw them into a small bin by the bed. He thanked me.

  “You’re going to cost me a lot of money, I can tell.”

  He laughed.

  I smiled at him as though his words were a pleasure to hear but - inside - I was dying. The thought of his tongue inside of me made me feel sick. The thought of him doing anything else to me - doesn’t bear thinking about.

  He laughed again, “Hopefully the wife won’t notice the money going from the joint account.”

  I didn’t say anything. The man sat up and reached for his underpants. He slid them on.

  “You’re married?” I asked him.

  He nodded, “On paper. Cost me more to leave than just put up with her.”

  I wanted to snap at him for the way he was talking about his wife but it wasn’t my place to do so.

  “What does she do?” I asked.

  “Bleeds me dry,” he laughed. “She doesn’t do anything. Stays at home whilst I go out and bring the money in. Used to have a job but - yeah - gave that up.”

  The man pulled his trousers on and reached for his shirt. I felt sorry for his wife. I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew of h
er husband’s extra-curricular activities or whether she was blind to it all. Can’t ask him. Too personal. He was dressed now.

  “Oh to be younger again.” He was staring at my body. “Once is more than enough for one day though.”

  “Too bad,” I lied. I’m glad he was done. I couldn’t wait for him to get out of the house so I could burn the bedsheets. Possibly even the room.

  “There’s always next time,” he smiled. Yellow teeth. “Right… Well… Thank you then.”

  I climbed off the bed and he leaned in for a kiss. Thankfully he planted it on my cheek. I kissed his. Can always wash as soon as he leaves.

  “You’re very welcome. And thank you for coming to see me,” I told him.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  And it was his. All his.

  I walked him down the stairs and to the front door which I wasted no time in opening. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as he stepped out - onto the driveway.

  He turned back to me, “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Listen, I noticed you didn’t have any reviews on your page. Did you not want them?”

  “I’m new to the game. No one has left any yet.”

  “They really do help people like me make our minds up. If it weren’t for your alluring pictures, I wouldn't have given you a punt…”

  I didn’t know what to say in response to that.

  “… Would you like for me to leave a review for you?” he asked.

  “Yes! That would be great! Thank you!”

  My debt level and job prospects dictated a need to do the job more than the one time - whether I wanted to or not - and I was well aware of the necessity to have reports written about me by the men who came to see me. Going by the fact my phone had been ringing non-stop since the page went live, and the emails were flooding through, I’m not sure how important the reports were but - regardless - it couldn’t hurt.

  “Consider it done!” he smiled again.

  Yellow teeth.

  That’s what I’ll call him: Yellow Teeth.