Alex's Story

My given name is Alexandra but you can call me Alex. That's what the people I care about call me. I'm 29 years old and identify as lesbian. My sexual preference is young girls. Legal age, of course, but barely legal, thank you!

This doesn't mean I don't have men in my life: I do. They are my clients, and they call me many names: Jennifer, Tiffany, Cheryl.

I call my clients one name: Daddy. As in, "I want you to fuck me, Daddy." And, "oh Daddy, I love to feel you inside me." And "fill me with your cum, Daddy!" Whatever it takes to get the old fucks off.

I'm a whore, and a well-paid one to boot.

Now I'm aware that some working girls, as the sisterhood has always been known, now are calling themselves "sex workers." I don't deny that providing sex is work but I don't like the term. I think they are copying academics who want to regularize what they call sex work. I'm down with that, but consider: a camgirl is a sex worker, as is a stripper, as is an escort, as is a sugar baby, as is a trophy wife married to a much older man, and fuck it, as is a wife, period. They are all providing sexual gratification, mainly to men, in exchange for material recompense.

After all, we don't call dentists and dental hygienists "tooth workers," although they both work on our teeth.

So I'm a whore, and have no qualms about calling myself a whore.

My therapist says I have unresolved daddy issues. My real father died in a car crash when I was very young and my mother remarried a real bastard, who did things to me I can't describe here because of the age limits on this site, especially after my mom died, so you'll have to use your filthy imagination. Let's just say that when I left home at age 18 with a few hundred dollars in my pocket that I stole from the pig, I had no interest whatsoever in men.

Of course now I do have sex with a few very wealthy men for money. It helps pay the rent and keeps me in champaign and caviar. But I get as much money, if not more, from my best client, my former mistress, Barbara.

Speaking again of names, to her face, I still call Barbara "Mistress" because she needs to have everyone in her household or her employ be her slave, but it's been years since I was a submissive slut in her bed. To me, she's a client, a very good one, but it's no longer her aging cunt I crave but the lovely young runaways she collects - I was once one such - and especially her pet slave and bedmate Kimmie, the Korean girl she bought in a Seoul brothel. Kimmie is 18 and I go crazy slurping her pussy juices and fingering her tight little cunt and her tighter asshole.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I met Barbara when I got off the bus in city. I had run away from the small town I had grown up in with a few hundred dollars I had stolen from my stepfather, the pig who had ... me (cannot say here), the minute I turned 18. I had stuck around to graduate high school because I wasn't stupid enough to go off on my own without even a high school diploma. And I had read up on what happens to so many runaway girls in the city and I did not want to become one of them.

In a way, I did become one of them because I became a whore, but I'm more of a high-class provider of a very specialized service for wealthy perverts rather than a streetwalker and crack addict. Which is what so many runaways become.

I had sat in the very back of the bus so I was the last person to get off. I had noticed several other teenage girls on the bus, each traveling alone with only a knapsack, and had pegged them for runaways. Sure enough, when I got off the bus, I saw that each one had attracted a gaggle of well-dressed bling-wearing young dudes whose outifts proclaimed "pimp" loudly.

"Pathetic, isn't it?" I turned my head and saw standing beside me a middle-aged but attractive matron, dressed to the nines in designer clothing and wearing elegantly understated jewelry, her blonde hair cut stylishly. "These pimps will tell the girl how pretty she is, offer her a place to stay and food and drugs, become her so-called boyfriend, then say he's invited some friends over for a party and he wants her to 'be nice' to them. Before she knows what end is up, six men will have gang raped her and her so-called boyfriend, who has addicted her to heroin or crack, will be beating her if she doesn't go out on the street to turn tricks. In a few years, she'll be a washed-out, used-up piece of shit but he won't care as he will have found several others by then. Pathetic."

"So what do you offer that's better?" I asked bluntly.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Alex."

"Barbara. I am glad to meet you."

She took my hand in hers and held it tightly in her grip. "What I can offer is shelter, food, and whatever you want. You can participate in the games we play in my house or just watch or stay a few days and leave. It's up to you. I never force anyone to do anything. I get off on having people submit to me willingly. If you stay, you will call me Mistress and service me as I require. If you don't wish to submit, you won't owe me a thing. I'm rich enough to give away whatever I want and still have plenty left."

Although I knew I would never totally submit to anyone, I found her compelling and authoritative. She was strong, sure of herself, and completely in command, all qualities I aspired to have but knew that I lacked. Perhaps she can teach me, I thought.

"I'll come along with you," I said, "and about the rest, we'll see how we get on."

"Quite right, Alex," Barbara said. She took out a pager and pushed a button. A moment later, a limosine pulled up. The liveried chauffer got out and opened the back door for Barbara and me to enter. Then he got back behind the wheel and drove off.

The first thing I noticed was that the windows were tinted black so that nobody could look in. The second thing I noticed was the three giggling blonde teenage girls in the back seat, all dressed identically in short shorts and spaghetti strap t-shirts with the word "houseslut" written out in cursive.

"These are a few of my girls," Barbara said. "Do they please you? Would you like to fuck one of them? Would you like one of them or all of them to fuck you? They will do anything you want if I tell them to. Isn't that right, sluts?" Barbara asked them.

"Yes, Mistress. We sluts exist to serve you," they said in unison, then broke out in helpless giggles.

Barbara whispered in my ear, "They're high most of the time and complete airheads, though I find them charming and love to have them lick my cunt. But they need someone responsible to manage them and discipline them. Perhaps administering discipline would appeal to you, Alex."

"Maybe," I said. This was all going very fast. "As to fucking, I think I'll wait on that till I'm more sure of what I want."

"As you wish, dear," Barbara said. "Meanwhile we have a long ride ahead of us and Mommy needs her pussy licked. Tiffany," she addressed one of the blondes, "come here and suck my cunt."

"Yes, Mistress, of course Mistress," the girl said, kneeling on the floor of the car, pulling up Barbara's skirt, and removing her panties. "This slut is pleased to serve the Mistress."

Where on earth did she learn this corny banter, I wondered. But I had a close-up view of Barbara's shaved pussy as Tiffany inserted a finger into it and leaned in to suck and lick her Mistress. Meanwhile the other two girls, their names being Amber and Jennifer as I learned later, lay down head to toe and began to lick and finger each other's pussies. Soon the car was filled with the sounds and smells of sex and while I was not touching myself, I found myself getting more and more aroused.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived at Barbara's country estate. The massive iron gates swung open as the limo entered the grounds and then closed behind us. I wondered whether I could adopt to the life Barbara was offering.