Ch. 02: Birth of a Cum Slut
Once I calmed down, I began replying to the continued stream of e-mails I had received after having logged out earlier, letting them know I had already had my facial, and that it was far hotter than I imagined it would be. The overwhelming majority of replies suggested that I should let them know if I decided to do it again. A few even suggested that they'd pay money or provide other compensation to me for allowing them to cum on my face. At first, I just blew these offers off, but after about the tenth one I began to seriously think about how that might work. A hundred dollars just to let someone cum on me? Without any penetration? As outlandish as that sounds, that's what many were offering. A couple of travel agents were offering up to three round-trip tickets anywhere I wanted to fly, and a flight crew member from a major airline was offering "buddy tickets" for me and my GF to go to places like Aruba, the Bahamas, or anywhere else his airline flew if I'd let him unload on my face on a flight he was on. Wow!
A few of the guys wanted to know why this was a fantasy of mine – what was driving me to want to have some random guy cum on my face? I've pretty much always been the dominant one in my relationships – not bossy, bitchy dominant, but the one who basically drove where the relationship went sexually. I've recently come to a place in my life where I want to explore my submissive side a bit. I want to be abused and degraded during sex – slapped, spit on, cum on, pissed on, face fucked, choked, bitten, tied up, restrained, etc., and have even gotten to the point of wanting to participate in some hard core bondage scenes. My current girlfriend has no desire to explore much of that, so I have no real outlet for it. And though we enjoy some fairly rough sex from time to time, it is nothing like what the dark places in my mind fantasize about.
After the conversation with the other girls about facials, I felt as though it was more "permissible" for me to engage in that kind of activity and put myself in that kind of position. I know it is not "politically correct" as a woman to say that I want to be slapped or spit on during sex, and I have no idea what it is in my mind that makes me curious and wet when I fantasize about it, but it does happen. And those of you who know me know that I am a firm believer in owning your own sexuality and exploring your own limits, fuck what anyone else has to say about it. So this had the potential to become the mechanism through which I could begin to explore this aspect of myself.
I finally worked up the nerve to reply to one who'd offered to pay me $100 and asked if he was being serious. He assured me that he was. I asked if that wouldn't make me a whore. His reply was, "not in his eyes – it was more of a gift for a service performed." How sweet of him. Semantics aside, I was not disinclined to take him up on it, given my enjoyment of the first one. I mean, getting paid to do something so benign (in my eyes), yet that so many guys were interested in doing and didn't involve me fucking them? It seemed like easy money.
I replied back and asked him if he could meet me in the same parking garage as I met Tony. Though he preferred to meet somewhere less "public" I wasn't about to meet someone in a private house or get in their car without knowing them first; at least, not at this point. After going through a series of negotiations, "Matt" agreed to meet me in the garage around 10PM the next night. I was going to have my car with me this time, with easy access to my panic alarm in case something happened.
At about 9:30 that night, I drove to the garage, and parked in the far back, lesser used area just as we had agreed. I got out and stood against the wall, the dim lighting just bright enough to make it not dark. As I had explained to him, I was wearing a pink shirt and a jean miniskirt. I left the bra and panties at the house to make things easier to get to, since I'd offered to masturbate for him if that would make it easier for him to get off. Though he was running a few minutes late, he finally pulled in. I suggested he park at an angle between my car and the wall so as to provide a space protected from easy viewing to take care of business in case someone else came driving around the corner. He did that and got out. I could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was ready to go.
"Did you bring the money?" He pulled five $20 bills out of his pocket and handed them to me. I thumbed through them and tucked them into my pocket. For a split second, in the back of my mind, I thought to myself, "You're officially a whore now." This, despite the fact that technically I had been a whore since a co-worker paid me $100 to eat her pussy one night. I'd apparently done a really good job, and she'd given me the money just so she could call me her whore. Silly bitch.
"Okay, here's the deal. You pull it out and jerk yourself off. I am going to lean against the wall here and masturbate for you. Once you get to the point where you're ready to cum, let me know, and I'll get on my knees in front of you. You can grab my hair if you like so that you can make sure you get my face with it. Other than that, there's no touching me, okay?"
"Sounds good. Fuck, you're hot. This won't take long anyway. Any chance you'll suck me off? For an extra hundred, maybe?"
