Pay and Go

That chink in the curtains is so important to me, I'll swear at times it's the only thing that keeps me sane! It may not let much light in, but the little that filters through lets me see everything I need to see, discreetly, via the wardrobe mirror.

Without it, I'd be operating in the dark, like I promise in my ads. I guarantee it'll be dark, and that I'll be waiting on all fours, squatting on the bed with my bum ready for action.

The photo in my ads is genuine. It shows exactly what you're going to get - me, in sexy lingerie and high heels and a long, blonde wig, sprawled across my bed with my ass in the air. There's a rubber laid out across my butt cheeks, waiting for you to put on, while a tube of lube rests invitingly beneath my legs.

You just suit up, fuck me and go - simple as that; no need to say a word. Only before you leave, you put my cash on the bed. Fuck, pay and be on your way - what could be simpler?

In the photo, I'm wearing red six-inch stilettos, and I have four pairs of those exact shoes, which I always wear for punters. Likewise, I'm wearing black, seamed stockings and a pink basque in my ad, so that's what you'll find me in, should you ever come calling. With me, it's always WYSIWYG!

I think everyone should be as straight as I am in all their dealings - cos this way, there's never any grounds for complaint, right?

To start with, peeps text the number in my ad, and I only reply if I figure they're genuine. Sometimes, I ask for a photo - could be of their cock, but more often it's a face shot. Next, maybe I ask where they are, and what time they'd like to visit? And they only ever get my address if I feel a meeting would work out to our mutual convenience.

In my ad, it says peeps can just walk in and fuck me, but that's not quite true. They've got to press a buzzer outside and ask to come in, and that gives me around 30 seconds to get myself ready.

After I buzz them in, they've got to climb a flight of stairs. Then, they push open the apartment door and walk over to my bedroom. They can't miss it, as it's straight ahead and it's the only room that's dark!

The other rooms are the kitchen and bathroom - but they're both bright, airy rooms, which anyway I keep closed. Actually, I mostly keep the kitchen locked; it's my special sanctuary, where I hang out in between jobs, drinking tea. I also keep my takings hidden in there; underneath the cutlery rack next to the kitchen sink.

Thirty seconds doesn't sound long now, does it? Well trust me, it can last an age! I can be drinking a cuppa in the kitchen when the buzzer rings, and I'll buzz him in, finish my brew, lock up the kitchen door and stroll into the bedroom...

Then I'll slip on those red stilettos, squat down on the bed and lay a condom saucily across my butt - and guess what? He won't even have reached the apartment door! Chances are, if he's a first-timer, he'll still be fumbling around on the stairs, worrying about what might happen if his little lady finds out, while cramp starts threatening to tie my legs in knots...

There are some real jerks out there!

Today's a Wednesday, so my first punter's a regular. He's certainly not one to mess about outside the door - he barges straight into the bedroom, where he finds me ready and waiting, just like in the photo in my ads. I watch him carefully in the wardrobe mirror, keeping my head down low so he doesn't catch me spying on him...

He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket and, like always, he drops his jeans but keeps the jacket on. It takes him no time at all to suit up, apply a little lube and get stuck into me. In fact, I've hardly time to catch my breath before he's pushed his whole seven inches deep inside me and is furiously pumping away...

"You're a dirty bitch!" he swears. "A dirty, useless fucking whore!"

I don't reply - in fact, I don't make a sound; my ads promise I won't.

"You're filth - absolute shit!" He's pumping very, very hard - and as he screws away, he's got his hands under my waist where he's squeezing me uncomfortably tight. So I'm keenly aware he's a powerful man, who could injure me badly if ever he wanted to...

"A dirty, disgusting piece of crap!" His grip is almost piercing my sides, and I'd be terrified by now, if only I didn't know him - know what's about to happen. My legs are flailing either side of his fast-thrusting hips, while just the sheer force of his hands is almost enough to draw blood.

But the threat is illusory. "You make me wanna vomit, you dirty, useless whore!" he shouts, as I feel his manhood shooting off, rapidly inflating the rubber that's protecting his sacred cock from my vile anus. A couple of deep, jarring spasms, and he's finished. He peels off the condom, drops it onto the floor, pulls up his jeans and leaves - throwing my wages casually onto the bed on his way out...

I'm grateful to see that, like usual, he's tipped me generously. What dark forces do I help him overcome, I wonder? But then, I remember it's absolutely none of my business! I sigh a little, figuring there's maybe time to tidy myself up in the bathroom and have a nice cup of tea, before the next punter arrives...

I fill the kettle and sit on the toilet with a glossy magazine, only for the buzzer to go off. This is frustrating, but hardly surprising. This next punter's a newbie see, and they're prone to come early - in more ways than one!

I'm kind of lucky today, cos my rough-tongued regular hasn't laddered my stockings, so once I buzz the newbie in, I simply have to retire to the bedroom and strike my pose. And just like I could have predicted, he fumbles around on the stairs for a while, then hesitates after entering the apartment, before tentatively creeping into the bedroom.

It's dark and my head is low, while my ass rides high. I've got my face pretty much buried in the duvet, and I figure he can't possible see how I'm spying on him, what with only the tiniest corner of my eye pointing furtively towards that revelatory wardrobe mirror.

I notice this newbie's lanky, young and nervous - just standing there, staring at me and kind of wondering what to do next. Now I don't want to say anything, cos my ad promises I won't - but I haven't got all day! So I wiggle my bum around a bit...

Taking the hint, he walks over to the bed and pulls his trousers down. He's wearing a cheap suit, and I figure maybe he works in a call centre or something? And I'll bet he's single - most probably still living at home with his folks, and unsure which way he swings? So, will fucking a tranny hooker hard up the ass bring him any nearer to finding himself? Who knows - only let's hope he tries to find out sometime soon!

By way of encouragement, I wiggle my bum some more, while pointing an immaculately polished red nail towards the condom that's spread over my butt cheeks. And silently, I start praying he's planning to put his brain into gear this side of Christmas...

Taking my hints on board, he suits up, tries to enter me - and fails. Yet it's all my fault, cos the lube's not where it should be! Fortunately, I've got a spare tube tucked handily beneath the duvet (I'm a real pro!) and so, without saying a word, I pass it under my legs - shaking the bottle so he sees what I'm doing.

He lubes up, has another go - and is soon pounding away proudly for England!

Now at first, this tyro doesn't know where to put his hands, so he's pumping me with no point of contact, except for his cock. This is kind of spooky as I realize that, thanks to a thin layer of gossamer, we're not touching at all!

And a similar thought has maybe passed through his mind, cos now he puts his hands clumsily on my butt cheeks and starts rocking with me, following the rhythm of his own manly thrusts. We get on fine like this for a couple of minutes, when one of his hands suddenly wanders absently down onto my thigh, causing me to bend the rule on my vow of silence...

I let out just the faintest of groans, which I'm grateful he picks up. Straight away, he moves his other hand down onto my stockings, and begins stroking my nylons as he pumps away. See, I always gain exquisite pleasure from having my stockings stroked while I'm being butt-fucked - even when it's only by a newbie punter!

So without another sound passing my lips, I make sure my body's telling him he's doing the right thing! And he lasts another five minutes or so before emptying his load, which is perfectly respectable for a first-timer.

He's groaning wildly as he finally offloads a generous burden, and a glance in the mirror confirms that, even though he's the shy and silent type, his orgasm has been defiantly sensational! Maybe he's learnt something about himself today, after all?

Because he arrived so punctually, I never got a chance to clear up after his predecessor, so now I'm mildly embarrassed to watch him dropping his used condom right next to the one that's already lying on the carpet! Still, there's no arguing over my fee - crisp, new notes straight from a cash machine are lain carefully upon my duvet. And should this kind gentleman ever wish to return for second helpings, I assure you he'll find me most welcoming!

I follow him out of the bedroom, desperate for that cuppa I missed out on, thanks to him turning up early. Flicking the kettle back on, I'm sure I hear a grunt on the stairs, like the kind you get when strangers pass. But then, nothing - and my next punter's not expected for almost an hour!

There's a half-length mirror in the kitchen, propped down low on the wall so I can check my legs. I use it to straighten out my stockings. I'm proud of my lovely legs, see - they're my greatest asset, and I never tire of ogling them, especially in high heels. Even after all these years, it still turns me on!

But the mirror shows me something extra, making me jump with fright. A young guy, dark and desperate, hiding his face inside a filthy hood! I turn around, and he's bearing right down on me, holding a sharpened metal comb like it's a proper knife. "How did you get in?!" I shriek.

"I'll stab you," he yells nervously, "unless you give me money!"

Dirty little creep! He must have waited for my last punter to open the front door, then sneaked in before it clicked shut. If you do that, you can get in - it's a weakness in my system. Peeps are paying for an anonymous fuck see, so they've got to be able to wander in somehow...

Now, all my money's in the cutlery rack by the sink, just a couple of feet from where he's standing, but I don't feel too much like pointing that out. See, I haven't been to the bank yet this week, so there's well over a grand in there - an amount I can hardly afford to lose every time some screwed up junkie mistakes me for his guardian angel!

"The cash is all in the bedroom," I lie.

"Well go and fucking fetch it then!" he yells.

Strolling nervously towards the bedroom, I'm conscious that if I can only get a pace ahead of this useless dope-head, then I can barricade myself inside while I phone for help. But it's no use - he stays so close he could be glued to me, sweating down the back of my neck while waving his makeshift dagger perilously close to my face.

The truth is, if I really thought he was going to cut me, then I'd stop trying to outwit him and just give him all my takings. I've been around a while see, and I've known gurls like me who fell out with the wrong kind of guy and got their faces rearranged. And it's just not worth it - I mean, how much can you earn with a paper bag over your head?

Still, a plan of sorts crosses my mind. I go over to my dresser, open the lower drawer where I keep all my stockings and tights, and start rummaging through them. Next I freeze, looking all vexed and perplexed, before screaming: "Jesus, where's it all gone? Fuck - I've been robbed!"

Pushing me aside, he rips the drawer clumsily out of the dresser and upends it, sending my nylons flying all over the carpet. Then he sounds off with some bizarre expletives, sweeping his arm over the table-top and knocking my make-up every which way while he's blabbering. "What the fuck do you mean you've been robbed?!" he growls, reverting to English after a prolonged burst of street bullshit. "Where's my fucking money?"

He shoves me so hard I fall over, landing right next to those used condoms I'd have tidied up by now, if only I could learn to be less slovenly. But then again, I'm a slut, right? Remembering this, I crawl over to him, grab him gently around the thighs and start pressing my face deep into his groin, hoping for a sign that, despite all the hostile noises, there might yet be a flicker inside him that's really just holding out for a screw...

"I'm so sorry," I lie, feeling enough stirring going on inside his underpants to know my instincts might not be too far wide of the mark. "That last guy - bastard must have robbed me!"

"Stop lying to me, bitch!" he bawls. But as I rub my face into his crotch, I start telling him I've an idea how we might be able to make a few quid, if only he'll let me help him? And next, when I start tugging gently on his zipper, he seems to be softening towards me in some ways (while hardening in others!)...

These days, it's rare I get to blow a guy - it's just the way my business model has evolved. Not much I can do about it, cos you have to go with the flow - especially if you're making a reasonable profit. But still, sucking guys off used to be my stock-in-trade, and it's nice to get a chance to prove I've not lost any of that old magic!

I start off by lapping my tongue gently around his ball sac, then work my way slowly up his ever-stiffening meat-rod. And by the time I'm teasing his cherry, there's a healthy trickle of salty pre-cum draining into my mouth and that nasty dagger of his is resting on the table-top, safely out of harm's way.

Mmm... that's it baby! The only offensive weapon you need round here is the one that's now in my mouth!

***********

Buzzing in my next punter, I'm unusually nervous. Now this guy maybe new to me, but he's clearly no newbie - you can always tell, cos of their attitude. He suits up like he's paid for some meat and, before he penetrates, there's a cold hand gripping the back of my neck.

I just know he wants to hurt me - and what's more, he wants to be sure I know what he's doing. Now usually, I hate these kind of guys. Under normal circumstances, I'd be panicking now, while kicking myself inside cos this guy ever fooled me into this meeting. But just this once, I'm mighty relieved - you could even say I'm glad!

Of course, I can see him in the wardrobe mirror. He's middle-aged, dark and swarthy. Ex-forces? Possibly, though not too fit - which is just as well! He could try bathing a whole lot more; it would take some of that stale nicotine away, even if it did nothing for the hollow, underlying stench of booze.

He's pretty well-endowed - a good eight inches, I'd guess - and I can see him grinning while he grapples with my neck, anticipating my pain. He thinks he's really going to make me scream; that his manhood's going to make me cry, if not beg for mercy.

And if I cry, he'll claim I broke the promise in my ad to stay quiet, and refuse to pay - or at least insist on a hefty discount. And if I don't? Well, that won't happen. See, left to his own devices, he'll have me screaming - one way or another!

But today, he's in for a surprise. The mirror shows a flash of steel, as my scumbag junkie sneaks up behind this lowlife butt-fucker. It's dim and dark, but there's no mistaking what's going on..

"Give me your wallet, you fucking faggot!" my junkie chides, sounding edgier than a sheer cliff-face.

Now you can sweat a lot with a cock up your ass, which makes it all too easy to betray yourself as a collaborator! So I keep my eyes locked closely on my punter's face, holding his full attention while a red mist descends over those hard-boiled eyes.

Does he suspect me? It's far too early to tell, which is an awful shame, seeing as my life kind of depends on it...

My junkie's clearly so wound up he's somewhere else, which gets my heart racing even more, cos I figure that, should my punter try and take him out, then this whole situation could end in one awful, bloody mess...

But nothing bad happens! Instead, I feel my punter's hand slackening around my neck (although bizarrely, his cock gets stiffer than ever!) And after a pregnant pause, he takes his wallet out of his jacket and, reluctantly, hands it over to my junkie - who, snatching it like a hungry dog, runs off.

And boy, can he run! One moment he's there and then he's not; he legs it out of my apartment like his pants are on fire, his footsteps pounding so heavily on the stairs that I hardly hear the front door slamming, even though it's louder than a bomb!

It's all over so fast, my punter's still stiff and hard inside me - and guess what? He never says a word! We still have eye contact in the mirror, and I can see he's well past livid - and yet, his lips are tightly sealed...

Unlike the lips on my anus, which are wide open, accommodating his pulsating meat-rod. They could do with a little more lube after this pause in events, but I wouldn't dare ask. Even when he starts pumping hard while grabbing me tightly round the throat, I know it's not in my interest to do anything other than take what this guy gives me, and make out like I'm truly appreciative.

God! My butt really burns, as all his anger at getting ambushed by some two-bit little punk he could kill with one small finger gets channeled into pounding my backside. Spasms shoot down both my legs, and a strange numbness spreads across my butt-cheeks, as he uses his iron cock to reassert his masculinity at the expense of my ability to walk with a smile anytime soon.

He thrusts his cock deep inside me, then all but pulls out, then repeats - endlessly and hard. His force is such that I feel like I'm burning up inside; that my guts are overheating, and I just might blow up, if that's possible?!

And he's not finished with me, in fact he's hardly started. His grip round my throat gets way too heavy, and my breathing starts becoming irregular. I'm panicking; feeling drunk and queasy, while wondering how far he's prepared to go? The face I'm seeing in the mirror's got an awful glint to it, and I figure he might just have lost it, and be willing to finish me off...

With a wistful grimace, he forces every last millimetre of his rock solid manhood deep inside me, and begins pumping me full of his juice. And boy, is there a lot of it! If he wasn't suited up, I'd be overflowing within seconds - this is easily the deepest, hardest load I've ever received, and gets me worrying how I might just need a few day's holiday before I'm back on my feet!

And when he pulls out, he's still not finished with me. Cos he reaches under my legs, right down under the duvet, and takes a firm grip on those bits I don't like talking about. And he squeezes them like they're putty that he can mash up in the palm of his hand.

"Now you tell me the truth, you dirty little queer!" he grunts after a few long, tortuous seconds. "How the fuck did that little shit ever get in here?"

"I don't know!" I plead tearfully.

I guess we keep our eye contact; I certainly keep my face pointing towards the wardrobe mirror, though as my eyes fill rapidly with tears, I can't swear whether he's staring at me or not. See, right away when I first set eyes on this guy, I knew he wanted to hurt me - and he's hardly proved a disappointment!

Besides, I've been beaten up by bigger and better men than this guy, so I know what to expect. Hang on for a few seconds, and the excruciating pain turns into a numbness that spreads benignly across your whole body - it's really not so bad.

I was beaten badly as a kid, see - punished by a gang for crossdressing, and so I don't function properly down there anyhow... It's no surprise to me when he blinks first.