Paying Her Dues

“Well this is certainly a surprise” said Roxanne as he walked round me letting her fingers trail teasingly over my cock, “you certainly look a lot prettier than before, What’s your name now?”

“Celia” I said, “I just kinda liked the sound of it.”

“Well it’s been a while since you came as David. What can I do for you?”

“Well I am not into fucking anymore. I thought about a massage, a blow job, and then maybe you could fuck me. I like that idea.”

I reached into my bag and took out a dildo and harness.

Roxanne whistled and smiled.

“Well you have come prepared. Maybe you would like to take your clothes off and we can have a little fun.”

And we did.

When she finished fucking me, or rather, when I called for her to stop as it was getting a little too intense,  and she took the harness off I saw that we still had five minutes so I knelt over her, masturbating vigorously until I came over her breasts in warm creamy glugs which I licked off greedily.

I collapsed onto the bed panting. This had been a good time. Roxanne rolled of the bed and wrapped a towel around her.

“Thank you darling. I need a shower now but before I go, I need a few pennies off you.”

I looked in my bag and went cold.

“I’m, so sorry Roxanne. I seem to have forgotten my purse.”

“How are you going to pay me then?”

She was no longer smiling. I had always imagined her as hard underneath the smiling exterior but now I was really seeing the hard side of her.

“You come to a brothel without money? You know I trust you because you used to be a regular and this..?”

“Well I “

“Well nothing! Thought you would get a free fuck, did you? Did you?”

“No Roxanne”

“You are going to make it up to me. You are staying here. You are going to work off your debt”

“No I er…er

“Do you fucking understand?”

She turned and left the room, locking the door behind her. Now I was her prisoner.

A few minutes later she returned, freshly showered,  and I tried to push past her and leave the room but she caught me and pushed me back against the wall and wrapped her hand round my throat. She moved in close and I could smell tobacco and mints on her breath.

“if you ever want to get out of here you are going to do what I say” she hissed.

I said nothing, trying hard to suppress mounting panic.

“Is that clear Celia?”

She almost spat out my name.

”I am really sorry Roxanne, I will bring…..”

“Bring it next time?”

She let out a mocking laugh.

“You must think I was born yesterday. I do this for money and only for money. No freebies here however much you kid yourself I like you.  I trust no one. And you are going to find out, Celia, just what a shit job this can be.”

You are going to give my three punters blow jobs at £50 a time and that way you will pay off your debt pay your debt.”

Again, I said nothing, trying to hide my rising feelings of fear and nausea.

“Aren’t you?” she shouted.

“Yes Roxanne”

She left and returned shortly afterwards with a balding overweight man who could barely fit his jeans over his gut.

“So darling I have a little extra to offer you today. For £50 my little shemale Cock Sucking Candy will give you oral. And she is rather good.”

“Oh I think I might like that” he said and smiled maliciously. He had sensed my fear and was enjoying it.

I knelt before him and noticed that he was sweating profusely even though it wasn’t a particularly warm day.

Roxanne laughed as I knelt before him and introduce myself.

“I am Cock Sucking Candy sir. Please may I give you oral”

He nodded, a bemused smile on his face, and unzipped his fly. The penis that flopped out was not clean, his foreskin was flecked with smegma and his bell end dotted with bits of tissue paper from  attempts to clean up after having a wank.

Roxanne handed me a condom and I slipped it into his cock, I set to work, sucking, licking and tonguing, doing all the things I liked Roxanne doing to me. I felt him stiffen and swell, then subside. I kept working until, suddenly, he hardened again and ejaculated into a condom.

He groaned and sighed, and I could see that he was sweating even more than before.

I slowly removed his shrinking cock from my mouth rolling off the condom as I did so. I swallowed its contents greedily.

I watched him take out his wallet and peel five £10 notes off a roll and hand them to Roxanne.

“I enjoyed that “he said. “Perhaps you could send the sissy round to my hotel room so that I can give her a real seeing to.”

“Well if you are a good boy I might. Let’s go next door and see what you’ve got left. Candy has more cocks to suck today.”

They made to leave the room and I said,

“Roxanne can I ask you a question?”

“What is it ?”

“Can I come here tomorrow as well?”

See Emily Play

One day I knew I would. On that day she would play with me. I would join her in the bath over the edge of which she dangled a booted leg. I would take a deep breath, dive into the scented depths and feel her pubic hair, velvet against my face. I would lick her, tongue her, before coming up for air. Then I would run my fingers over the exuberant flowers of her sleeve tattoo, kiss her and take her under with me. When we surfaced, I would take a sponge and wash her and this would be the most sensual of all, to push the sponge against her back, squeeze until the water ran in rivulets down her skin. Then I would rub her down, quickly, slowly, quickly, remembering each inch, the shades of her skin, the blemishes, the undulating highway of her spine, absorbing it all for the future. I was a cartographer of lust, even as I lay and fantasised.
I promised Emily that, come the day, she would be the first to fuck me. I am into men, sure, I love cock more than most things, and putting a length in my mouth, feeling it harden as I worked the bellend with my tongue, swallowing the warm ejaculation, was one of life’s greater pleasures. But to be penetrated by a cock? That would surely come, and I had a few volunteers to be the first. But I really want Emily, dream of a mutual fucking with a double-ended dildo. Or maybe not. I want her with the strap on, holding my wrists as she comes down, feeling my fear and feasting on it. Then I want it hard, hard.
“This time” she will say “You will know you’ve been fucked. ”
The next time her lover, the one I have cut out of the main picture will be there. They will both have strap-ons, they will spit roast me, and when I am spent I will be made to watch them making love, not roughly as they have treated me but gently, watch them kiss, watch them finger each other.
And if we can’t do that, she will plunge a wand down on my brand-new clit and bring me quickly to orgasm. Or maybe I will do it myself, imagine she is there with me. That time will come, a year and painful surgery away. It will come. For now, I say good night to Emily, put her back in the drawer, Emily and the dark-haired lover whose name I do not know and masturbate to completion as I surf the crested waves of my still too large bed.

This is a little story for Masturbation Monday. You can find links to more stories to get yoir juices flowing here

 

Masturbation Monday

 

Sharing Our Shit Saturday 9th March

This week I have been reading thigs that were hot and things that were thought provoking. I will start with the latter. Here are a few reflections by Coffee and Kink on friendship and some of the difficulties that those of us who are into BDSM, or blog about sex or whatever, can have in connecting with people when our lives are necessarily compartmentalised  and we can’t be really ourselves with everyone. This is now actually less of a problem for me. For one thing boundaries have been blurred by, for example, people I originally met on the kink scene turning up (in a totally good way) in my vanilla life. There is also my age. I have decided that I really don’t give a ……. what people think of me and am quite open with most people about who I am.  But this, I understand, may not be an option for everyone.  And it is totally liberating to be with people you can talk about the important stuff with, one reason why I am so looking to Eroticon next weekend.

Which leads onto Emmeline Peaches’ reflections on International Women’s Day and being a sex positive woman and writer and on being herself and proud of it. I spent last night out drinking with a diverse group of women, straight, bi, queer, of different ages (all younger than me though!) but all amazing people I am proud to call friends. I found it totally affirming and Emmeline’s piece really spoke to me.

This week saw the start of the 2019 Euphoff  for deliberately bad erotica and I posted my entry here. I guess there will be many more equally cringe-inducing pieces to come by the end of the month and you can find links to them here as well as details of how to enter. Do have a go. It is fun and a liberating experience because if what you write is rubbish, well, that is the whole point isn’t it?

I guess I am not alone in spending ages getting ready. And, to be honest, I enjoy taking my time, sipping a gun and tonic as I ponder the key questions, what eyeshadow, what lipstick will go best with my dress,  wondering whether I will finally get my eyeliner right this time? There are, of course, other ways of getting ready as this piece of flash fiction by Jayne Renault shows.

And finally, back to chastity which is kind of where I started last week’s roundup. I enjoyed this guest post on Girl on the Net’s blog.

If you have enjoyed these as much as I have then why not follow a few links and see what else you can find and maybe spend a few hours down the rabbit hole of smut?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Therapy But Is It Art?

I have a friend who has recently started reading erotica. This began out of curiosity specifically that she wanted to read my published work, But she read the other stories in the books I lent her, enjoyed those and asked me to lend her some more books. I went for a coffee with her recently to talk about her experiences. Anna is in her early 30s, she identifies as straight and vanilla, and on her own admission had never thought much about her sexuality and the ways in which she lived it.  Bur she had fund much to enjoy in the erotica she had read. She had gained insights into her own life, and understanding of herself as a sexual being, even from stories about gay sex or even BDSM that were far removed from her own experience.

As the conversation continued Anna opened up more and confided that she had had some bad experiences sexually and that she had issues with low self esteem specifically related to sex. And reading smut had helped to come to terms with this, to see that really there is nothing wrong with her.  In short, reading smut had been therapeutic.

Some years ago I did some work with  a Community Interest Company that was commissioned bt local Mental Health trusts to run reading therapy sessions often with people who had had limited educational opportunities and presumably found   reading literary fiction daunting. But it was fascinating to sit in on a session and see how the act of reading helped the self esteem of these people and also served as a medium for self understanding as they brought their own life experiences to bear on the text, commenting with insight on the issues raised.

It is a commonplace that there is no right or wrong way to read a text, everyone brings something different to that text. This is true of literary fiction. It is also true of erotica. In fact I would go further and say that the distinction between literary fiction and niche fiction, be it erotica, crime fiction or whatever. Good writing can open doors, whatever the subject matter I am grateful to Anna for providing evidence of that.

 

 

Song of a Baker

There’s wheat in the fields, slut, there’s water in the stream. We will go down thee and I will have you in all your filthy sluttery. You will kneel amidst the ripening crop and I, head high to the blades,  will take you from behind as you sink into the rich cloying earth.  Then I will lie on my back and I you can come down on me

Pat a cake pat a cake baker man bake me a cake as fast as you can and when you have finished hurry up to the flat and take me, fill me with moist springy cake, fill me till ready to burst with the work of your hands. And then, my little baker man, you will come down on me and eat me out, yes eat me out, fill your face with that sponge steeped in my juices. Kiss me and fill my mouth with chewed mushy cake. Spit the rest out over my boobs and lick it greedily off.  And them fuck me, fuck me hard

I will decorate you with dough, a little bun on each nipple,  a bite sized chunk on your clit and take a photograph. I will post it on that website we use where you are The Baker’s Wife The Greedy Bitch Who Wants to Have Her cake and Eat it. And the finished scones we will take to the club next week, and there you will lie on the table covered in scones and jam and cream and every single one must l be eaten off you. Then I will fuck you, fuck you right there on the crumbs and the jam and the cream. Our bodies will fuse in sweetness and you will taste salt. Then I will invite anyone who wants you to join the queue to fuck you, you who will be strapped down, legs apart. One after the other they will take you. Greedy girl. You will have your cake and eat it.

Oh baker man oh baker man who has made me a slut from a slave to cake, my baker man whose cock never fails to rise like the yeasty dough in your kitchen. Oh baker man I thank you for each cock you have allowed in my cunt, each cock I have had in my mouth and tasted and enjoyed as I enjoy your cakes. I thank you for the come I drink every day. Oh baker man, my baker man, I thank you most of all for the mornings when, sated with sex and refreshed by sleep, I come down for breakfast and gorge myself on the most sensual delight of all, your soft crusty bread, fresh from the oven.