Day 28
Hey Journal,
Another day in the life of a whore. Just short of a month here in Happy Adventure Fun Town.
Starting to develop my own client base now. No names, to protect the guilty (pleasure!).
Last night Mr X took me out to a sex club. First time working outside the House. Well, except car rides. It was a surprise, but a pleasant one. He called a few hours ahead, told me he wanted to take me out.
I assumed he just wanted his usual blow job in the car or maybe, hopefully, a private dinner. He had a limo pick me up and take me somewhere else first.
That freaked me out, thinking I was gonna have to blow some stranger. Probably would have done it but he would have heard about it. He's a regular client. Pays well, demands little. I want to keep him happy.
So, flash forward: Here I am, sitting in a limo on a grand tour of the city, waiting to hear from on high. We turn north, allowing me to admire what is quite a beautiful sunset. Low hanging clouds are brilliant purple, red and orange.
Soon, the driver rolls the compartment window down and hands me his phone. "For you," he says.
It's Mr X. The phone call could be paraphrased as: Sorry, something came up, but if you want a bunch of money, go where he takes you, do your thing, don't cause trouble or embarrass yourself or me, because I will find out.
Actually, that may have been exactly what he said. He continues, "It's a shitty looking building in a shitty neighborhood. Don't worry. You will be safe. You will be paid 2500$ just for showing up, when you show up. If you want more, earn it.
When you are ready to leave, or anyone makes trouble, just tell one of the guys at the door. Goodbye."
I hand the phone back. Well, color me surprised, apprehensive, excited. Mr X had mentioned the parties a few weeks ago. I knew he was fishing then, but I wasn't interested.
Back then, I was still kinda green and content with two rub and tugs a day. Since then, the money has been easy and the sex, meh, kinda boring actually.
Mr X's thing is: blow job, no condom, swallow. I've blown him several times, at 500$ a pop, heh. Maybe his wife doesn't do that. Or she charges more. Har!
The Club is apparently in some run down area downtown. Outside my window, I see block after block of neglect and decay punctuated by an occasional blossom of squalor.
The car slows in front of a block of factory buildings. The whole area is fenced off with chain link and razor ribbon. The driver turns in to this area, stopping in front of a guardhouse. The path is blocked by a gate.
A bored looking guard emerges from the booth. He has the driver roll down the window for a look inside before going back in the guardhouse. The gate swings open. We drive in.
The driver parks, helps me out of the car, escorts me inside. Inside is hardly better. The floor is strewn with debris and the place reeks of piss. A path has been swept clear. He leads me along the path to an elevator.
We take the elevator up to the second floor. The doors open to what looks like a hotel lobby which is much cleaner and pleasant smelling. However, obnoxiously loud techno music makes it impossible to hear.
Several thug-like men in suits stand nearby. The driver nods at one, motioning for me to follow. I glance around nervously, then step out of the elevator.
My driver shakes hands with one of the thugs, who, like his associates, appears to be of Italian-American descent. Then he leans in close to say something to the thug. The thug nods, looking me over.
Driver departs. Thug takes my coat, puts it away, gentleman-like, then motions for me to follow. He points out a door labeled 'dressing rooms'. Across the way are some bathrooms.
He holds up his watch (a Rolex), taps it and holds up all ten fingers. Then he points to himself, then back over at, or past, the elevator doors. I nod and he heads back to the door.
I go in the bathroom first. Kinda sure what I'm here for, but not exactly, such as state of dress and where to go... I pop a squat and pretend to pee for a few minutes while I mull things over.
This is my first night working outside of the House. I'm new, but not stupid. I know there are strings attached to that 2500$. If I take the money and run, that would most likely mean losing a good client.
Possibly more, as he has enough influence to make things hard for me or the other girls in the House if he wanted. For all I know, he owns the House I work at. I should do this.
While I am on the pot, a few more women stride in. Their stride, their shoes and chatter suggesting that they are in the same line of work. I flush and exit the stall, wash my hands.
A dozen girls are here, some of them in panties, a few nude, checking their appearance in the mirror. I check mine. A skinny black girl sporting an afro is looking at me.
"You're new," she says, "From downtown?"
"Yeah," I reply. "What's the story? What did I get myself in to?"
"A good gig, sister, easy money. Mostly couples looking to spice things up. Bachelor parties."
"Last time was my first," chimes in a shapely latina to my left. "Started in the blow job cage."
I shrug. "Sounds pretty tame. How long did you stay in there?"
"Yeah, it wasn't bad. No one makes you stay in there. It's sort of a hazing thing. Also, you get to show off your skills a little. Last year, some girl must have blown like eight guys in... what, twenty minutes? And I don't mean she just started sucking eight dicks... she finished sucking every single one."
"Yup. She was mad at somebody," says the black girl.
"Wow. That's a tough act to follow. So are there... rules?"
"No drugs, money, or names," says the latina.
"No money?"
"You can't charge anyone. We are kinda like those ladies in the grocery store, handing out cheese or crackers or whatever. "
"I'm confused. The reason they do that is because they are hoping you'll buy something."
"Exactly! Now if someone asks you to go to their room, that's different. You can charge whatever, do whatever. But then, those people can be... unpredictable."
Afro girl continues, "That's why some girls just suck a dick or two and call it a night. Probably just trying to cover rent, get back at an ex, whatever. They don't come back."
"But... Professional... Ladies..." she adds between lip smacks, "Professional ladies see these nights as an opportunity to network... diversify." she says with a final lip smack.
"Later, ladies..." she says, and heads out the door.
Deciding that I will stay for now, I head over to the dressing room. There are lockers here, most with keys protruding from the locks. A few other girls are here, first timers, too, from their looks.
A few girls have mildly confused or irritated looks, but nobody looks scared. Good sign. Most working girls know they don't get invited to parties strictly to eat shrimp and drink watered down booze.
Emboldened by the girls in the dressing room, I strip down to my panties and purse, put my dress in the locker, lock it and take the key. Then I go find Rolex guy by the casino tables.
A few other girls and thugs are around, never more than two girls per guy. A month ago, this situation would have creeped me out. Now, I'm chill. I think I even know what's going down next.
Music is still too loud. Never been a clubby person, I like to be able to hear. Nothing left to do but be sexy. Boom. Done. I lean back on the casino table, proudly displaying my tits, just to see his reaction.
Rolex guy gives an appreciative look and smile but doesn't stare. Classy dude. I look around and notice that there seem to be some portable structures recessed within partially curtained off areas.
There approximately as many curtained areas as there are burly dudes. Must be the cages.
A few minutes later, the lights come up a little, volume drops to sane levels and the music changes to some instrumental shit. Face dude jerks his chin at me and I slink off the table, smiling. Never hurts to be sexy.
He opens his jacket, pulls out a sealed manila envelope of the kind I am fond of seeing frequently. "Count it and give it back. I'll hang on to it for ya", he rasps, "seeing as you don't have any pockets."
I suppose I could put it in my locker but decide not to press the issue. From what the other girls said, this is a well-run professional operation. I count it and give it back with a smile.
He proceeds to tell me the rules I heard in the dressing room. No money, drugs, or names shall be used here. Violence will be met with violence.
He walks me over to one of the cloistered structures, most of which are indeed cages. Nearby is a wide, low slung table with rugged looking restraints bolted to the sides and ends.
The sign on the cage reads: Blowjobs. Rolex guy pushes the cage door open and motions me in. There is bottled water, mouthwash, and a trash can inside.
"This is yours", he says. "Have fun."
I step in and sit on the floor as he pulls it closed with a click. Neither the lock or cage appears sturdy. As he walks away, I call out: "Hey Mister." I wait for him to pause, then: "Blowjob?"
He chuckles and turns around, dismissing me with a wave. I'm prepared to wait. I don't know the timetable on gigs like this but the entertainment phase of anything is almost always last.
I can't help but feel a mild disappointment that I did not have a chance to offer a menu. Well, honestly, my actual menu is pretty dull. At first, I was afraid I would become some amped up kink freak,
needing to be the kinkiest, hardest bitch around just to pay the rent. Nope. House Rules are just slightly more restrictive than my personal rules. My clients already have been instructed in no uncertain terms what is off limits by the time they meet me.
Condoms required. No drugs, no drug paraphernalia, no weapons, no refunds. The house will comp someone if they are disappointed. And when they gotta comp a few people disappointed with the same girl, then they want to talk.
So far, I've had no complaints. I provide a shockingly large number of blowjobs, usually as part of a rub and tug package. Since meeting Mr X, and taking rides in his car, I have also discovered that I like the taste of semen. His anyway.
I haven't told Mr X I like his jizz. I value him as a client but that's it. People treat hookers weird because they can. Also, I don't want any unplanned changes in my diet.
The last week has been so dull I swear if someone wants me to pee on 'em, I might do it. And laugh.
An ex-boyfriend used to like watersports, or watching it online, at least. We tried it in the shower. It was ok, kinda novel. Not my thing. In the end it's just hot, stinky water that just came out of your boy or girl. He kinda lost interest in it after that and we tried some other stuff, some of it ... novel. Watching bondage can get me going. Or gangbangs. Both. Really though, I'm pretty vanilla slash lazy myself. So much kinky stuff requires such a ... capital investment. Maintenance. Permits. Accountants. Jesus. I'm not complicated. Treat me nice, ask me about my day... If you can wait out typical periodic female biological functions, or not sqeamish, skip the wait: Pop a dick in me. Everybody has a thing. I've been with women too, especially as of late. The girls in the House fool around a lot, play in bed. I enjoy it, sure, but it is more of a way to unwind and bond than a visceral urge. With dudes, it's different, simpler. Dudes have exactly three functions: fucking, fighting and fixing shit.
All the other cages visible from here have girls in them but nobody is on the table. The next cage over has a couple girls in it lying or scissoring on the floor, can't really tell. I can't see their sign.
"What's your job ladies?" As way of response, one of the ladies lifts her leg to expose half a long flexible dong. I have a bad angle for them and can't see anywhere else for entertainment. I consider rubbing one out but I'm enjoying the building tension.
People, fully clothed people, are entering to my right and gathering in what appears to be a lounge area. Someone takes center and starts talking. Everyone looks pretty normal from here. Occasionally the people chuckle or clap. An orientation of sorts, I gather.
Eventually the meeting winds down and people start moving into our area.
