Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting (7 page)

Afterwards he just lays on the bed, twitching and gasping.  I pack up my bag and put my bra on, but I don't get all the way dressed.  With Tom, instead of 15 minutes of post-sex snuggles, he gets 15 minutes of post-beating bullshitting.  He really likes to talk, mostly about nothing, but it makes him happy that I'm a “cool girl.” 

When he finally rolls over, he gasps out a thank you, and I put on my cutesy voice to say your welcome, and we giggle.  I know this is the part where I either keep him forever or lose him.

“Tell me how you feel.  How was that for you?”  I really want to know if maybe I went a little too far with my anger, if he would prefer a cold and clinical kind of beating.  Tom isn't really a communicator, though.

“Great, it was great.  So how're things on the river, you got any bears?”

He opens the door naked and kneels behind it with the same asshole grin he's had since I met him, like he's getting away with something.  He is.  I lock the door behind me and glance down at him. 

"Stay."  I stride into the room and around the corner.  It's the nice hotel by the airport, the one where all the pilots and oil executives stay.  There's a big kitchenette, a couch, a chair, a bed, tables, and dressers.  On the dresser by the bed he's laid out ropes and straps and gifts for me.  Very pretty and very organized.  What a good boy.

I put my suitcase on the couch and rummage through, pull out condoms and dildos and clothespins and rubber bands and make my own decorative arrangement on the bed.  When I go back around the corner, he's still kneeling by the door.  I sit in the little armchair and take my clothes off while he mumbles.

"Oh goddess, you're so beautiful, oh goddess, your breasts, oh goddess, your ass, oh goddess, oh goddess..."

I sit in the chair, naked for the first time - usually he comes to me and I already have something cute on, so I just keep it on.  I arch my back a little with my fingers on the arms and point my toes against the floor.  Suddenly my mind is blank and I can't think of a thing to do with the cheeky graying man down on his knees professing my Goddesshood.  I'm the Goddess, I can have anything.  What do I want?  There's a wetness building between my legs and suddenly I think it would be nice to be eaten out by a submissive brat I kind of love to hate.

"Come," I beckon and he crawls.  "Lick," I pull his head between my legs.

He's robotic -- eager, disgusted, unskilled.  See what I mean?  I push him away, but I don't give him the satisfaction of telling him how much he sucks.  Asshole.

I arrange myself in a royal pose against the pillows he's stacked on the bed and instruct him to rub my feet and calves.  Some idiots have to start at the bottom and never work their way up.  I put my whole hand over my pussy and start rubbing it, just a little.  Usually I'm playing a role with guys like this, finding the puzzle path through the maze to their erotic center, but this time I actually want to make him watch me cum and know that he had nothing to do with it, that he couldn't. 

Just about the time he finishes with my second calf, I shove my foot in his mouth and start really rubbing my clit.  I prop myself up and shove my other hand into my cunt, my fingertips brushing against my G-spot as my other hand flies across my clit.  For a second I think I'm going to squirt, but then I don't.  I blame him, of course.  Asshole.

I stretch and luxuriate for a minute.  He's on his knees still, eyes big. 

"I guess you want me to beat you," I say.

"Yes, Goddess."

"Beg," I tell him.  "Try to convince me you deserve it."

He's an engineer, and not the creative kind.  Finally I interrupt his bumbling and make him assume the position.  Face down, ass up.  You know what else pisses me off about this guy?  Last time I whipped his ass and left him with welts on his cock, he sent me an email saying I hardly left any bruises.  Asshole.

I start with his leather straps, back and forth.  Thunk, thunk, thunk.  Big figure eights.  Then I speed up to slaps.  Faster and harder and he whines out a thank you Goddess after every strike.  I put the belt down and put a condom on my finger.  Lube.  You know what he really doesn't want?  To cum.  He doesn't want to cum for exactly 23 more minutes.  I tease his asshole and he whimpers oh no, oh no, please not yet, Goddess.  So I pick up my whip with all the pretty strings and whip him across the thighs and tell him to shut the fuck up. He groans and pants towards orgasm, and I arrange six clothespins all pretty down his balls. 

"Your wife told me to do this," I whisper in his ear before I grab his balls and squeeze them around the clothespins.  Crazy bitch suits me.

When he cums I make him taste it and he pukes in the toilet, and then he sits on the couch and tells me how much money he makes and how his wife hates him.  I have to go, but later I get an email about my awesomeness, and an email from his reference saying he emailed her about my awesomeness and maybe we could do a double sometime so she can see what I do.

Yeah.  I'm good at hurting people.  A dubious virtue.

The problem with my pee slut is he's flaky and unreliable as hell.  "Goddess Tara," he would email, "Are you in town?  I want to see you today!" 

If I told him when I was coming, he would email that day or the day after to see if I could come over in an hour.  All in all, he irritated the hell out of me whenever I wasn't around him, even though he's fucking adorable in person.

So we had a conversation last time.  I explained to him how we started off in this weird half-friend/actual submisive zone.  I explained to him all the ways that he failed in the actual submissive zone, and I explained to him all the ways that he failed in the client zone.  My sternness turned him on.  I told him what he would have to do to be an actual submissive (be Dream's bitch for me) and what he would have to do to be a client.  He picked client and thanked me for the firm guidelines.

See, isn't communication nice?

But it started yesterday with an email. 

"Oh Goddess Tara, I'm so sick!  I'm in bed!  I don't know if I can come!"  I responded with my patient voice email that I had reserved an hour of my time, for him, and that I wouldn't do so again if he didn't show up.  This morning another email.  "Goddess Tara, I feel so much better today.  Thank you for making me honor my commitments, you make me a so much better person."

He texted while I was at chemo with my mom.  "Goddess Tara, would 2 work?"  No, I texted him back.  We agreed on this time and that is the time I scheduled for you.

He's nervous, a timid man, and when he arrived, he threw a card down on the table and ran to the bathroom.  What I don't like about my pee slut is that he's so inhibited that it's hard to read him when you're beating him, as I'm often doing.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he asks how I am three times, glances around frantically until I tell him to undress and lie on the bed.

"You just have the hip problem, right?  What's your safeword again?" I ask as I tie him up. 

"Oh, Goddess," he says as I crawl onto the bed.  "I'm so happy to be here."

So am I, my pee slut, so am I.  I sit back on my strong thighs (they make me happy too) and look at my equipment, all lined up.  First the little stringy whip, I think.  My pee slut, despite his lack of reaction, is quick to invoke his safe word.  I'm not, by nature, a start-small-and-only-build-a-little-bit kind of woman.  If someone wants pain, I want to give them A LOT of pain.

But I start small.  I swat at his dick with the stringy whip for a long time.  Then I put some rubber bands on it and swat a little more.  Then I add some clothespins and swat a little more.  It's a strange kind of boring, to be so completely tuned in to someone who is so completely blank.  Maybe that's what he likes, the blankness.

I stop swatting for a little bit and snap the rubber bands up and down his cock.  Somehow that makes it bleed.  I told you, he's very sensitive, even though he's also very blank.  I have a rule against blood, but there it is, so I just put some gloves on and snap the rubber bands a little more.  Then I pull on the clothespins and squeeze them.  I think maybe he takes a sharp breath, but then it's gone. 

I want to beat him until he takes big, gasping breaths.  That gives me an idea. 

"I'm starting your training now," I tell him.  "This is your first lesson, and the first thing you'll learn is to thank me for every bit of sensation that I give you.  When I whip you, each and every time, you say 'Thank You Goddess.'  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Goddess."

I slap him with my hard leather paddle. 

"Thank you, Goddess."  Slap.  "Thank you, Goddess."  Slap.  "Thank you, Goddess."  There's a little whimper, a little ragged breathing, a little human.  Why didn't anyone ever teach me that trick?  I'm so proud of myself.

Now he's jumping and quivering with each slap, and I don't want him to abreact, if he's going to, so I tell him to turn over and I play with his prostate a little bit and whip him at the same time until he's trying to fuck himself on my fingers.  Awesome.

I leave him on the bed and quickly gulp two more glasses of water down.  What to do next?  I sit in the recliner and call him to kneel with his head in my lap.  I tell him he's doing very well and ask him how he feels, what he thinks, what he likes and what he doesn't.  He loves it all.  Not so much the whipping, but how he feels afterwards.

Last summer I slipped and hit my head in the boat, and afterwards all the colors looked brighter and I was so happy.  I wonder if I'm like that for him.

I tell him to worship my feet for a while, and if he does well, I'll pee on him. 

"Oh, Goddess" he says.  "You're so amazing Goddess."

Then he massages my feet and tells me about his job and how he transferred here and there and then moved again so he wouldn't become an alcoholic.  He had two kids and he's so good at what he does everyone thinks he's the best, but he likes to deflect the attention to his employees.  Once he got a 15 thousand dollar bonus and when he got back he gave half of it to his employees.  Because they did all the work, you know.  Anyways when this new company was starting up everyone told the owners about him, and they lured him away from his old job with promises of money and power.  Since he's so good at what he does.

I nod and smile and say yes, he must be very good at what he does.  Yes, he sounds so generous.  Yes, everyone must like him.

He tells a long story about a twisted inheritance and an evil relative, but to make a long story short, he thinks he might be getting a million dollars sometime soon, and he'd like to take care of me.

"Aw," I tell him, "of course I want to take all your money, but you should do the responsible thing and take care of your kids first."

Oh yes.  He has plans.  They'll get trust funds, but there'll be plenty left over for me.

I push him down into the bathtub and squat above him on the edges of the tub. 

"Go ahead," I give him permission to touch himself.  I hope I can pee for a really, really long time.  And I can.  I start peeing on his dick and squat waddle up until I'm peeing in his mouth.  This time he gasps a little and moans as he pumps a thick stream of cum onto his stomach.

“
The Professor’s gentle,” I told Mac last night after I picked her up from the airport. “And every time you start to get into it, he’ll stop and ask if you’re okay.”

Gentle is good. Mac and I are both nursing tired bodies back to goodness.

I texted the Professor first, because he was the perfect client for the moment, but he hadn’t responded, so I'd sent out an email to all my regulars. It was a great marketing email, but perhaps it would have been greater if I had sent it a few days before. As it was, five people responded and asked if we would be around for the weekend, and the Professor eventually texted and said he would love to see us at the time and rate I’d suggested, but we would have to be gentle because he was recovering from surgery. Perfect.