The Female Price of Male Pleasure

Chapter 1

If depression is merely anger without enthusiasm, then anxiety is merely fear without reason, and this fear comes with an additive effect for those who are infected; for the greater the mystery that surrounds its source, the more pronounced the effect becomes. And unfortunately for her, Tracey was among the most qualified to showcase this truth.

Tracey couldn't understand why she felt so anxious; considering the number of times she had accepted new clients she felt like she should have been used to it by now. Though maybe she had that all backwards; perhaps the build up to every new encounter would only serve to intensify with time -- for the longer that nothing bad ever happened to her, the greater the chances were that something finally would.

Either way she could still feel her heart pounding rapidly as her demons tormented her with wave after wave of all worst possible outcomes, and so she did what she always did: recited to herself what they had told her to do. If he wants you to be happy, then act happy. If he wants you to be sad, then act sad. Such simplicity marred her reflection in the mirror; she wore what they told her to wear, painted her face like they told her to paint it, styled her hair like they told her to style it... and she did so because her life was better when she complied with their wishes. Thus, in that moment she was as complacent as she was presentable.

She was so transfixed with these ponderings that the knock on the door genuinely frightened her, and she wondered why she was so often cursed with such fear. Was it her punishment for not being happier with all the prestige and luxury?

The knock came again.

Shit I'm late, she thought. She grabbed a few ice cubes and placed them very specifically underneath her shirt, a trick that they assured her would help communicate enthusiasm with respect to third party interest. She couldn't understand why she had to mimic these indicators of excitement, or why they always insisted that she should do everything she could to augment certain physical traits that the clients found so endearing. Not that she gave it much thought... because after all, life was far better when she didn't think too much and simply complied with their wishes.

Ready at long last, she finally opened the door. "Welcome," she told the stranger with a weak smile. "Won't you please come in?"

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Marshal was nervous as he waited; should he knock for a third time or would that just make him seem like the rude and pushy type? Just as he was wondering if he should try contacting the intermediaries, at long last the door finally opened.

"Welcome," she told him with a weak smile. "Won't you please come in?" Not only did he want to accept her invitation, but he also didn't want to frighten her any more than he had to and so he made sure there was plenty of space between them as he walked past her and into the dining area.

The money he paid did not disappoint; he was in a presidential suite on the 50th floor, thus offering him one of the finest views there was of the city below. He helped himself to the scotch that was on the stand beside him as he marveled in awe over the visual, and for the briefest of moments he almost felt like he was part of the bustling activity and vibrant nightlife that was on ready display before him. My goodness, he thought to himself. Whoever gets to wake up to this view must be one of the happiest people in the world.

"Incredible, isn't it?" she asked. And just like that he was brought back to reality, and he wondered just how long she had been there with him.

"I hope you can forgive me," he told her. "For any discomfort I could ever hope to cause you would surely just be a manifestation of the intense and everlasting jealousy that I'd naturally feel towards anyone who got to appreciate a view such as this on a regular basis."

She wasn't sure if she understood him and so she just smiled and nodded. Don't worry about being smart or clever, they told her. Your compliance is far more important than anything you could ever hope to tell them. As he continued to just stand there while not doing anything, she started to second guess herself. Was she doing something wrong? Was he merely a hostile actor exploiting the moment before inflicting upon her a sinister fate?

"You know I can always leave if I've given you cause to feel uncomfortable," he told her. Ironically, his offer only served to frighten her even more. Was that a lucky guess or am I making myself too obvious? she thought.

"Please, that's really not necessary," she assured him. "Feel free to stay as long as you'd like, and in the meantime," she said as she placed her hand on his shoulder, "please let me know if there's anything I could ever do to help make your visit a more agreeable one."

Marshal was always extremely sensitive to even the slightest touches that beautiful women extended to him, as they often induced an endless series of possibilities and potential which unfolded rapidly in quick succession.

"Well, there might be one thing you could do for me," he told her softly.

And here it finally comes, she thought as her heart raced quickly against all the flashbacks of her previous requests. Take off your shirt, get on your knees, come sit on daddy's lap and if you're soaking wet then it might mean that you need a spanking...

"Help me solve a mystery," he told her at last.

"A m-mystery?" she stuttered as her flashbacks continued. How large are your tits, what size bra do you wear, do you really prefer men, what position do you cum the hardest, do you like anal...

"Perhaps you could help me figure out how it all came down to this?" he asked.

It was clear that she didn't understand what he was getting atg and so he elaborated. "I dress well, I'm polite, I'm well-spoken, I'm gainfully employed and educated... and yet regardless, here I still am today, universally decried as undesirable by all women everywhere and forced to pay for my affections like a lowborn ruffian possessing the most unruly of all possible characters."

Flustered by the strange and incoherent monologue, she proceeded with caution. "Sir?" she asked. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Personally I think you're quite handso..."

Visibly agitated at this point, he didn't let her finish. "So that means you won't tell me why you or any other woman would find me so unattractive? I must say that if this request is too much for you to handle then you really should rephrase the wording of your advertisement, which clearly stated an express willingness to accommodate all sorts of unorthodox preferences."

If his goal had been to alleviate any fear or anxiety she might have possessed, then in a way he had succeeded. For in that moment she felt nothing but bitter contempt towards the highly unusual newcomer. The way that he had said "too much for you too handle" was especially irritating, because after all, who was he to presume just how much she could handle? Despite having no desire to participate in whatever game that he wanted to play, she still took a few moments to look at him and make an honest assessment, something that she never really did with clients.

Normal height, scrawny build, oddly shaped eyes, lengthy hair that probably appeared more untidy than it actually was... although she would never be the one to tell him, he was as unremarkable and as easy to overlook as they came, and coupled with his queer manner of speech, snide commentary and rather ghostly complexion, she wasn't surprised in the slightest that he was suffering from the affliction that he so readily described.

"I really have no idea why they'd feel that way about you, sir. I on the other hand though..."

Again, he interrupted her. "Well then, why would you charge me for your affections if I wasn't so undesirable?" he rudely demanded.

She was really starting to lose patience with such an absurdly ridiculous question, and at this point she genuinely felt that he might be suffering from a mild form of mental retardation.

"Sir, I can assure you that it's nothing remotely personal. The plain fact of the matter is that I charge everyo..."

"If you charge everyone then does that mean that you charged for your first time as well?" he interrupted again.

His open hostility finally robbed Tracey of the final bits of patience and cordiality that she might have possessed. After all, they had only just met and already he was constantly interrupting and rudely inquiring about her previous sexual encounters, as if for a moment that would ever be any of his business.

Suspecting that a continued correspondence just wasn't going to work out between them, she wanted to tell him to leave, but those words wouldn't come out. Her first time seemed like such a lifetime ago that she had nearly forgotten about what happened, though at the same time, something about the way he brought it up still triggered a very distant memory...

She had a huge crush on an older classmate when she was 18 and still just a senior in high school. He was tall, broad shouldered, athletic and dreamy eyed, and she was just beside herself with anticipation when he asked her if she wanted to study with him at his place after school some time.

She fretted for days about what she would wear, how to do her hair and whether or not the usual amount of makeup she wore would be too much or too little. She even told her friends about it and they all giggled about how cute he was, while openly questioning what he might have meant by "studying" and whether or not she was even ready for it. After confessing to them that she was a bit nervous -- that he might not like her or that she might come across as stupid while studying -- they all assured her that she only had one option.

And not only did she laugh at first, but she also point blank refused such advice because after all, she didn't even own a skirt.

"But why?" she asked, seemingly oblivious to a truth that was self-evident to everyone around her.

"Oh, well you know," they pressed. "It helps keep him interested in you and it also prevents him from getting any wrong ideas."

Then after fully convincing her that it was 100% necessary and even offering to lend her one of their own skirts, she felt like she had no other choice. And besides, what was the worst that could happen?

So in the end she succumbed to the advice provided by her peers, and on the day they were suppose to study together she wore one of her friend's skirts, a decision that she would instantly regret. She could distinctly remember how she felt exposed, vulnerable and practically naked during the school day, a feeling that was further aggravated by how often she had to cross her legs after realizing that they weren't crossed to begin with. During conversations, lectures and daydreams... without even realizing what she was doing her legs would shift to an open and uncrossed position, simply because she found it far more natural and comfortable that way.

Later when she met him after school she forgot all about these little mishaps because she was with him at last. She felt her knees wobble a little bit after he told her how pretty she looked, and felt comfortable and at ease with his arm around her waist as he guided her to his home.

When they finally got there she was a bit confused. "Where are your parents?" she asked.

And just like that a distant ringing sound could be heard, and Tracey was brought back to reality. Marshal's session with her was over, and without another word he bowed and helped himself out.

Chapter 2

"Welcome," she told him with a weak smile. "Won't you please come in?" She tried to stomach a grimace as her least favorite client helped himself inside, slapping her butt in the process.

"Miss me?" he asked with a wink.

He was her least favorite type, and also the client she had serviced the longest. Cocky, arrogant, full of himself... and to make matters worse, some of the traits that he prided himself on were actually well justified.

She knew that he would thoroughly enjoy the experience if she tried to push him off her, fought to keep her clothes on or begged him to stop, though she didn't do that often because of the amount of work it took on her part. Thankfully she also knew that he liked it when she sat there passively and just let him do what he wanted, as he felt that this was her way of communicating to him that she was finally happy with her "proper place." In other words, she liked how no matter what she said or did he was always very easy to please.

She felt him lift her effortlessly onto the bed, forcing herself into an awkward position where her head was placed downward and her lower torso propped upwards for him, similar to how it was like for her first time. The helplessness of her situation always overwhelmed her as she felt him hold her down and push himself inside of her. And she couldn't help herself; her body always responded, pushing back hard in response to his thrusts, as if it desperately wanted to go harder and faster, a preference that would result in agonizing whimpers if not placated. Maybe that's why he always took me from behind, she thought. For at any given moment he was always in control and had the power to deprive me during tender moments.

The hopelessness of it all, having no control over how her body responded when it pushed back, knowing that he wouldn't take her seriously if she told him to stop... it all accumulated into an intense and violent release, where she moaned helplessly as agonizing waves of vibrations coursed through her. He always held her down forcefully so that he'd be deep inside her when this happened, and she couldn't understand why he'd experience such delight with her response. It reminded her of how, when she lost her virginity, the guys she was with had high fived each other afterward, almost as if the way her body responded might somehow be an achievement for them.

"Marry me," he told her immediately after he finished.

Ugh, she thought. They seriously don't pay me enough to put up with this crap. It annoyed her that he was so fully convinced that her life would be so much better if she were forced to put up with him more often, almost as if she should be ashamed of what she did for a living and should be leaping at the chance to do something else.

"If that's really what you want then don't you think your current wife might be presenting a bit of an obstacle with that?" she asked.

"Who? Her? No, she's nothing compared to you. All you have to do is say the word and she's out of my life forever. I'll buy you whatever you want and you'll never have to work again."

"How endearing," she told him diplomatically. "And out of curiosity, did you say the same thing to your current wife before divorcing the one you had before her?"

"And don't you see?" he laughed. "That's why you're so perfect. My current wife never would have had the presence of mind to ask a question like that."

"And yet regardless, you still considered her to be wife material," she observed. "And so with your standards being as low as you say that they are, do you really think you're paying me a compliment by proposing?"

"Okay you got me there," he confessed. "Though in my defense, I married my wife long before I met you, and it wasn't until meeting you that I was to learn what true perfection entailed."

"Ho, ho, ho," she told him sarcastically, not believing a word. Of course she would instantly regret laughing like that because in response he turned her over onto her stomach and began rubbing himself on her. His motive was perfectly clear; because he couldn't get her to respond to his flattery he just had to make her respond in other ways to compensate.

"Such a feisty attitude you're giving me today," he told her. "And I think you know what that means."

She winced at the thought, and was grateful that he wasn't able to witness her discomfort. She knew exactly what that meant. Clients didn't do it often because it inflated their cost so much, but on the off chance that they were willing it was always an unpleasant experience that she didn't enjoy. And so, from a proposal of marriage to painful humiliation, she fought back tears as he forced himself upon her.

Though perhaps it was a good thing in the end. Not possessing the endurance of his youth, after the second time around he was knocked out cold. And feeling the disgust that she normally felt after the deed was finished, she went to take a shower, almost as if the ritual provided more for her than physical cleanliness alone. And by the time she was out he had already left, and the rest of the night was hers.

Chapter 3

"Welcome," she told him with a smile. "Won't you please come in?"

This time it was her favorite client, simply because his behavior did not mimic the odd and perplexing behavior that was shared by the vast majority of his male counterparts.

So often men had this obsession that they always had take her to some type of arbitrary "level," and if they couldn't do that then they wouldn't be able to obtain the level that they themselves wanted to obtain. As such it was never enough that she could just offer herself to them. Nope, she always had to offer herself to them and also let them think her time with them was somehow "super amazing."

She thought this was the reason why all the men who visited her would respond in such a disagreeable fashion if they were to learn that their wives or girlfriends were engaging in the same practice that they themselves engaged in, because god forbid that he and he alone wasn't always able to satisfy each and every single desire that his wife could ever have. Nope, they just always had to believe that he alone would be all that she'd ever need, and even the tiniest bit of evidence that suggested otherwise always sent them into tantrums.

That's why she liked him so much. He didn't care if he helped her reach some type of level or not -- he simply had his needs and he used her to satiate them. If she enjoyed it then great, but if not then that was fine too. His desire and satisfaction were wholly independent of her own, and this refreshing simplicity made her feel safe around him, at least in the sense that he wouldn't get jealous and that he had no desire whatsoever to hurt her. And because he wasn't one to be rude, pushy or forceful, he almost seemed apologetic as he placed her gently on her back and then lifted her legs up so that they were over his shoulders and dangling behind his back.

Compared to when she was taken from behind, this experience was much more relaxing. No murmurs, or moans or teasing... it just didn't make her feel much of anything. Yes she could feel him move inside and out of her, but her body didn't really respond, and as a result her thoughts were always elsewhere. Of course some things just never changed with men; his thrusts came more frequently and his breathing became heavy, and at the last moment she felt him pull out and use his opportunity to expel seminal fluid all over her chest.

In her eyes it was one of the funniest things about men; how it was virtually impossible for them to use a towel or other piece of fabric for the event... each and every time it always had to be her chest, her face or if they wanted to pay extra... inside her. No ifs, ands or buts.

"So was your day okay?" he inquired at long last.

"Sure. I guess it was fine."

"Good. My day wasn't the best. My air conditioning broke, and the repair people weren't able to make it in time due to the heavy traffic."