tagHumor & SatireMary Smith, Escort Extraordinaire

Mary Smith, Escort Extraordinaire


I am an honest-to-goodness, flesh-and-blood, mostly friendly, often frisky, black adult American female person woman human. I am that no matter what I choose to do and no matter what someone else chooses to do with me. I am also a proud, ethical, and unabashed sex worker.

My client rules of engagement are as follows.

  1. No piss, race, poop, rape, incest, slave, cop/prisoner or soldier/enemy play. Sexy nurse, waitress, secretary, wife and dancer scenarios are fine. I draw the line at underage schoolgirl fantasies. I'll be your seductive college student or worldly professor for an hour or two, though.
  1. No slurs (especially the woman-hating kind; triply especially the black woman-hating kind). You will treat me with respect at all times. However, I make some hilarious exceptions. Some of the blasts from the past make me smile. Wench, dolly, harlot, minx, floozy, hussy, and trollop all sound like spicy desserts. However, the minute you call me a fucking bitch, goddamn cunt, or stank ass ho, you're out the door.
  1. My fees are nonnegotiable. I also require your picture identification and I will run a background check on you.
  1. Barrier protection is mandatory for penetrative sex and mouth-to-genital contact. I will provide the protection. We won't be using yours.
  1. I reserve the right to call a halt to all proceedings. If I do so, I will give you a refund minus the reservation fee.
  1. If I ask you to shower, cut your fingernails, or brush your teeth, please do so without complaint.
  1. No intoxicants, drugs, or smoking in session. If you show up impaired, your session is cancelled with a refund (again, minus reservation fee).
  1. If you wish to restrain me in session, we will be using my restraints alone. If I restrain you, we will be using my restraints alone. Safe words call a halt to all action and are required.
  1. You will not bring weapons to any scheduled sessions, period. Don't even try.
  1. No cops, bail bond agents, lawyers, judges, cop-adjacent professionals, military members, musicians, actors, professional athletes, or conservatives/Republicans.
I'm slightly kidding for all those that aren't the first and last groups in rule number ten. As long as they don't talk shop in session, I'll take their money. However, conservatives, cops, and Republicans can go fuck themselves (figuratively and literally).This is what I promise all clients.
  1. I will not stalk, harass, or spy on you out of session. I expect the same in return.
  1. I will do my best to accommodate your reasonable requests. If I cannot do so, I will let you know before your payment is accepted.
  1. I will show up sober and will never be under the influence with you.
  1. I am naturally friendly, enthusiastic, and compassionate. Treating me in the same manner benefits us both.
  1. I choose when I want to kiss a client. Be on your best behavior to increase your chances. However, I won't kiss you if you don't want that and I'll always ask first.
  1. If you need to stop, take a break, or otherwise compose yourself, the clock stops and only starts again when you're ready to continue.
  1. I am not offended by gifts or presents. If you want something additional in session, however, that's covered by a separate payment or an increased fee.
  1. I give compliments. I'm not too proud to accept them.
  1. I will let you know ahead of time if I will no longer be accepting you as a client. I will refer you to others to see if they can accommodate your requests.
  1. I tend to give extras to long-term, respectful clients. Be one yourself and enjoy the goodness that flows your way. The level of consideration you give me is directly proportional to the level of interest I'll show you.

You might be wondering if my name is really Mary Smith. You've probably already guessed it's my pseudonym. I chose it specifically because it's as plain and common as dirt. Those who choose monikers like Mistress Gobblecocks or Iona Wetpussy are trying way too hard. If you think you're going to track me and my real life down by name alone, good luck locating the 38,086 Mary Smiths in the United States that ain't me.

Why did I take that last precaution? Because my literal job, my actual career, is considered a crime for some historically spurious reason. If I could do my job without fear of arrest, if my job title wasn't considered one of the worst insults you could give a woman, if the people that routinely target us for intimidation, ostracism, abuse, rape, and murder couldn't routinely get away with it like they do now, I might've chosen something a little sexier, alluring, and specific. Specificity, however, is the bane of the working girl. If you can find us easily, you can take advantage of us horribly.

I know, I know. I imagine some of you are thinking "Not all clients!" But a disturbingly high enough percentage of you fuckers are lying, hypocritical, deceitful, and dangerous shitbags that don't deserve the benefit of my doubt. My hard-won experience in the trade has taught me what's what. Heauxs up, always and forever.

When I'm fucking clients for the first time, I like to see their eyes light up. I like to feel their pleasure tremble surprisingly through their bodies. I enjoy skipping though the gardens of their untended lust and making hidden passions bloom. Dammit, I'm good at my job, if I do say so myself (and I will).

When I give clients exactly what they want, when they unmistakably respond with unrestrained delight, when they shake and tremble and cry out not only their desire but the discovery of what they only imagined before, it makes me happy they took that journey with me.

Take ass fucking, for instance (and I definitely do, under the right circumstances). Some clients can't believe I offer that service simply because they never met a woman willing to do it with them. I don't know what to say about that. Like, are you surprised I offer a service you specifically asked for? Anal sex isn't a birthday wish someone begrudgingly gives you because you've "behaved yourself" in some other fashion. At least it shouldn't be ideally. I offer anal sex because it's some of the most amazing sex I can have. That's right. I often come with clients.

I'm not lying or exaggerating to generate more business. It makes good financial sense that I actually enjoy my job. There are people who will never want their butts fucked, no matter how much you offer, no matter how much you beg. When I was first coming up in the business, I got that request a lot and reflexively refused to do it myself. I assumed it was uniformly horrible because of other working girls' preferences. But I was acting out of ignorance, not experience.

I researched how to clean myself, how to relax, how to go slow at first, and how to stimulate my clit while rimming my booty hole. I took weeks gently playing with the idea and myself first before actually taking "the plunge." At first it was a finger, then two, and eventually three, always slicked with generous amounts of anal lube. By the time I actually introduced a dildo, I had already turned myself on to the idea so much that I got wet just at the thought of anal. Yes, it was slightly odd and uncomfortable at first when the dildo pressed into areas that had never been stimulated before. But once it was past my inner and outer sphincters, I shook and quivered with abandon, orgasming not only through my clit but completely and thoroughly in my quavering asshole, jiggling butt cheeks, and swaying hips. It's like skiing on the kiddie slopes then suddenly shooting down the Matterhorn.

I will tell you about my favorite anal threesome with a client, but I first want to highlight some standout sessions: many good, some bad, others neutral, and most eventful.


Let's talk about Sole Man.

You know what's coming, don't you?

Him ... all over my feet.

I know, I know, I telegraphed that one.

While we fucked in missionary, he held on to my calves and stared longingly at my shoes.

I filed that away in my depraved mental Rolodex. I told him to wait a second, unbuckled and tossed my pumps, and placed my legs right back in his hands. His eyes bugged out as I wiggled my toes at him.

I went for it.

"Would you like to come on my feet?" I volunteered shyly (but definitively).

"Can I?" he asked in amazement.

"Sure!" I giggled happily. I snatched off his condom and pressed my feet against his cock and balls.

That did the trick. He started beating himself off furiously, staring at my wiggling toes and exposed heels.

"OMYGODYOURFUCKINGFEEEEEEEEEET!" he wailed uncontrollably and shot copious amounts of spunk over my piglets, arches, and heels.

He collapsed on his back next to me on the bed, lost in sensual bewilderment, trembling and shaking with erotic exhaustion.

"Your fucking feet ... Your fucking feet," he repeated over and over again like a mantra.

Ease up there, Quentin Tarantino.

I grabbed strategically placed wet wipes, cleaned my tootsies, placed the towelettes in a plastic bag, tied it off, and threw it in the trash.

Needless to say, I greet him in open-toe kitten heels, flip-flops, or sandals every time I see him.

Consider this before any of you think "Ew!" or "Yuck!" Apart from my feet feeling a little sticky and ticklish, it wasn't any trouble at all. A guy shouldn't feel ashamed for sexually appreciating my body in a way he naturally responds. And my condom rule is for penetrative sex. I've never heard of anyone getting an STI from foot play. Semen isn't battery acid, after all. In reality, what seems like a lot of come is just a little bit of liquid from a cisgender dude's nuts. If your mental block prevents you from accepting some spooge, maybe you should never fuck men.


From my admittedly vast experience, I could give a master (mistress?) class on the many variations of the male member.

Minor skirmishes and slap fights have ensued trying to determine which quality is best: size, length, girth, color, blah, blah, blah.

Let's discuss what's really delightful: curve and angle.

One exquisitely unique client of mine shall here and henceforth be known as The Cockscrew.

He wasn't unflatteringly shaped. I didn't think he was grotesque or anything like that. I just hadn't come across this particular bend. His junk looked like a small dachshund tilting its head quizzically.

After I rolled on the condom, I gave him a questioning smile and appreciatively held his erect member in my hands for a good few seconds.

We got into doggie-style so I could best feel him inside of me. He gave my ass friendly and gentle slaps as we got a happy little bounce going.

Then he grabbed my hips and slowly pushed himself in to the hilt.

Why hello, Good Sir! How do you do?

He ingeniously, surprisingly, and quite thrillingly pressed against my walls and G-spot in ways I never thought possible. He left me sweaty, trembling, and a near incoherent mess.

Well played, Mother Nature. Well played. I tip my vibrator to you.


My natural sexual state is loud while coming. I've also been told I have vivid facial expressions when I'm really into it.

He spooned me from behind as we fucked on the bed. He nuzzled my neck and earlobes and gently cupped my breasts. I gave low and sweet moans in response.

I don't know how you would describe that, but I mirror my partners' emotions quite readily. The closest term to what I'm like is a switch in the kink world. However, that's not quite complete. It's not that I go back and forth between extremes. It's more like I can get pleasure from many different scenarios and blissfully give it back in kind.

As I angled for the best stimulation, I started to come and babble emphatically at the same time.

"Could you please not do that?" he asked.

"What? Do you want me to try something else?" I inquired.

"No, it's just your voice is a little distracting," he admitted.

I toned it down to whispery hums and the occasional muffled moan. I closed my eyes and made my face an inscrutable mask. But I still secretly got off.

With this particular client, Mr. Quiet Please, I faked not having orgasms. How's that for irony?


Jokers that pointedly refuse to get it instantly become ex-clients.

Before potential clients ever get to be with me, I make sure they've read my lists of ten. I've even printed and laminated the rules and responsibilities on double-sided index cards that I can hand them for convenience.

One particular time waster showed up with a holstered semi-automatic. I handed him a banded roll of cash equivalent to his upfront payment minus my booking fee. I always keep these bundles handy at any session if I need to cancel quickly.

"Oh, I forgot," he lied. "I always keep one for safety."

"Good to know," I said as I shoved him out of the hotel room and slammed the door. I checked out soon after and made sure I wasn't followed.

A man who threatens you with a gun has no control. That's the big lie they try and convince you is the truth. Like, if he had any real control, he would never need a gun in the first place. A man with a gun is trying to convince you, not to mention himself, of his questionable strength by hiding his fear behind bullets. What he can't gain by imagination and daring he compels through cowardice and ammunition.

Speaking of shitheads with weapons reminds me of the fact that I've never been arrested. The way I conduct business makes it virtually impossible for a cop to ever detect the true nature of my job. I pay my taxes through a cover gig. And my initial appointments are indistinguishable from unpaid dates. It would be great if I didn't have to go through this subterfuge. As far as I'm concerned, all adult and ethical sex for pay is carnal civil disobedience until decriminalization is the norm.

If I haven't already said this, fuck the police. Like, never have sex with them, certainly don't rape them, but fuck them, utterly and thoroughly. Keep your bored and abusive noses out of our sexy business. It seems a minute can't go by without you assholes using your badges to take what you fear and desire. I see your hatred of black women and whorephobic ass, Daniel Holtzclaw. Spend the rest of your worthless fucking existence never having sex with anyone but yourself.

One asshat, while he was on top of me, started to say "You African ..."

Nope. I crab kicked him and sent him spinning off the bed. I threw him his cash refund and told him to split.

Another jerk said he just wanted to talk.

"Are you sure you want to be doing this?" he whined. "You ladies could do so many other things."

Look, up in my business! It's a hypocrite! It's a snob! It's Lieutenant Rescue Tart! I told him, and his contrary boner, to take a hike.

It's not just men that don't get it. One lady lover booked me to go down on her.

She looked positively crestfallen when I whipped out a dental dam.

"But, but ... I'm a woman!" she spluttered.

(* Metaphorical crab kick *)

I tossed her the cash equivalent of her payment and told her I wouldn't be taking her on as a client. She hesitated for a moment. When she saw I was serious, she flounced out of the room in a disbelieving huff.

If you don't follow my rules as a client, no matter your gender or lack thereof, I will kick you to the curb as quickly as any misbehaving man. I'm not getting throat cancer for some misguided notion of backing the cause. She, presumptuous ladies like her, and her inconsiderate brethren can fuck all the way off.

So long, Sister Solidarity.


Other clients are an absolute dream.

One regular always shows up showered and shaved, pays full price without complaint, gives unsolicited gifts, and never tries anything sneaky. During a very satisfying fuck, I made him an offer.

"Can I get a kiss?" I asked him.

"Sure!" he piped up happily.

"No tongue, no saliva, and no spitting, okay?" I said.

"Okay," he easily agreed.

I kissed his upper lip, then his lower one, then went back to the top. "Mmm," I moaned deeply and sweetly on each lip, making a low "Mwah!" sound as I moved back and forth. He kissed me back the way I kissed him.

This is one sexy way you can negotiate boundaries. You don't have to slam people with all your "don'ts." You can seductively show them all of your "do's" by demonstrating exactly what it is that you expect.

While in mish with him, I twirled my feet, increasing my desire to feel vulnerable and sweet with the guy, all the while still being completely in control of the situation.


One lady enjoyed having her titties massaged while being fingered.

She sat in a chair facing away from me in front of a full-length mirror. I slowly approached her from behind. I nuzzled her earlobes and ran my fingers over her scalp.

I massaged her shoulders and back, then slowly reached around her to unbutton her blouse. We both looked at each other in the mirror as I took it off.

Her breath resounded deeply, a husky song of near abandon.

I gently unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. As I squeezed and fondled her breasts, she shimmied out of her skirt.

I reached inside her panties and heatedly stroked her clit. She wriggled and twisted against one hand while my other shook and jiggled her tits.

I stopped fingering her, reached for a vibrator, lightly applied it to her covered mound, and turned her into a slippery, giggling, panty-soaking fountain.


She kissed and fondled me to arouse me from slumber. I had previously agreed this was an acceptable way for her to initiate.

"Linda Brown" (8,680 in the United States), my polyamorous girlfriend and fellow sex worker, stroked my rapidly hardening nipples and licked my earlobes.

"Good morning," she whispered seductively.

"It's about to be," I mumbled provocatively.

Linda is a warm and deep shade of brown. I have a slightly lighter, medium-brown complexion. I am somewhat taller and leaner than her. She has a fuller ass and heavier breasts than I do.

All this naughty arousal woke our boyfriend, "James Davis" (21,686 in the United States). He is long-limbed, delicately muscled, a shade between myself and Linda, and consistently good-natured.

Linda, with James' full permission, delicately licked and flicked his cock to attention. She gently mouthed his mushrooming glans.

I maneuvered to plop my ass solidly on his face. His darting tongue found my innermost recesses and stroked my clit to attention. He then warmed my flaming pussy lips with wet, noisy slurps.

Linda got on top of James. She lowered her pussy on his dick and slowly worked him inside of her, moving herself back and forth, side to side, wiggling and rolling her hips for the most pleasant sensations.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Linda to smooch. She pressed into my kiss, licking my lips and breathing her sweet, hot breath over my face. We giggled with shared lust and mutual lewdness.

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