Work Experience Whore

DESCRIPTION.

sexually frustrated student develops a relationship with a brothel owner while navigating the ups and downs of sex in a small English town.

Helen was a 21-year-old university student. She came from a good family and was expected to do well in life. She was the type any mother would choose for their son's wife. You could rely on her to use the right knife, make polite but witty conversation and be a lady in all matters. Her degree in some social study was more for accomplishment's sake than use, as her family connections would open future doors for her.

During her studies, Helen became very familiar with her student town. In summer the place thronged with locals and tourists for it was a pretty place with winding streets, old rickety Tudor buildings, cobbled lanes and a multitude of small shops.

Like in all towns, most people kept to the main central streets where the shops and cafés were located. As people roamed outwards you'd hear mutters of "There's nothing down here, let's turn around." These streets were the home of those shops no one quite understood how they made a living, the barometer repair shop, the electronic appliance shop selling overpriced toasters from ten years ago that sat in boxes faded by years of sunlight, the cobblers still trying to eek a living in a world where most simply discarded damaged shoes.

Helen liked this area, it got her away from the crowds and she'd like to ponder how the banjo repair shop that only opened 2 days a week stayed in business. Among the so-called pointless shops stood one she could never fathom. It had no sign above the door and its windows were obscured by a large green curtain that never opened. It might as well have been a place of residence if it weren't for a small opening times sign in the corner. She never plucked up the courage to go in in case it was an undertaker, insurance broker or accountant. Inquiries at uni had led nowhere, most hadn't bothered exploring down there, those that had never even noticed the place.

It wasn't until she overheard a conversation in a café between two old ladies that she learned of its true function, a brothel. Helen was taken back, she always pictured brothels as having red light hanging in the window and a half-dressed prostitute smoking in the doorway. Surely these women were mistaken.

Helen became obsessed with the mysterious shop, nothing was mentioned anywhere online, no adverts, no reviews not even a rumour. So why did that old woman say "the brothel on park road" were they even referring to the same place? Surely they must be. She remembered there was a small café of questionable hygiene standards nearby. Not the type of place she normally goes but if she sat by the window perhaps she could at least see if anyone ever went inside.

On a quiet Sunday morning, Helen sat by the window and ordered the full English breakfast. The café was quiet bat one man reading a paper as he worked his way through a pile of toast and coffee. Helen gazed out the window as she slowly made her way through the sausage and bacon, but no soul left or entered the shop. Perhaps it was too early, but Helen was growing frustrated, "Excuse me, stupid question I know, but what is that shop across the street, the one with the green velvet curtains?"

"That's Rachel's, it's a massage parlour. Used to be really popular one time but now they get six customers a day if they're lucky." Replied the café owner.

The man in the corner lowered his paper, "Internet killed it, back in the day half the local students lost their cherry there. Now they just swipe and meet a girl for free. Just middle-aged guys now."

"Rachel usually pops in here on weekdays around 12ish, if you're interested in meeting her."

Helen returned home excited, she had cracked the mystery and was actually getting the chance to meet a real-life prostitute. What could she ask? Are there no-go subjects? Is it even polite to ask anything?

Thursday came, the only free lunchtime she had. Helen made her way to the café, sat down and ordered a plate of ham, egg and chips. As she waited for her food, out of the corner of her eye she saw the door of the brothel open and a tall smartly dressed woman emerge. Her appearance was more typist than trollop. A beige skirt to the knees and white top neither would raise an eyebrow let alone a dick.

She smiled as she entered, and up close looked older than Helen had imagined, probably early 50s. "The usual please."

"Quiet today?" Asked the café owner.

"Dead, only one client one of the regulars."

"Same here, 4 this morning, one only wanted coffee. We should move to the high Street " laughed the owner.

Rachel looked over to Helen, "Student? Thought you lot had a canteen?"

"We do, just like to get out away from the crowds."

"I only come here because I can keep an eye on the shop."

Helen assumed it was an attempt at humour and smiled, "that place across the road, I've often wondered what it was."

Rachel paused "well we can't exactly put a neon sign up. We cater for gentleman's needs."

"Is it more an evening thing?"

"Hell no, their wives would want to know where they were. If you're curious pop over when you're finished eating, and I'll give you the tour."

Helen jumped at the chance and accepted. "If you don't mind me saying, you're not what I'd expect."

"I'm the madam, my working days are long gone. We have a younger different girl every day. Legally that's all we're allowed"

"Legally?"

"If one girl works, we can pass off as a massage parlour. He's paying for a massage, wink wink, but any more girls then it's a brothel and that's illegal."

Both finished up and made their way across the street. Stepping into the foyer she was met by a locked door, a small CCTV camera caught her eye followed by a buzz as the door opened.

"It stops kids and drunks, got to play safe."

Inside looked much like the lounge of any small house, with carpets, pictures on the wall, a sofa, and even a TV.

"This is the waiting room. If he's new it gives us a chance to make sure he actually knows what we do, occasionally some think it's a sports massage place."

"Don't people mind a brothel in the area? What about the police?"

"Only time we see police in here is when they're not getting it at home. Truth is people would rather have us here, nice and discreet, than prostitutes walking around town."

A side door opened and a younger lady appeared draped in a bathrobe. Her black lace lingerie clearly visible "oh, thought I had a client. New recruit?

"No, just giving her the tour"

They made their way down a short hall, to the bedroom. It looked like her grannies, a large king-size bed, the usual furniture, all that set it apart was a large bath towel on the bed and an accompanying pile in the corner. A fruit bowl full of condoms, talc lube and a sex toy sat on the bedside cabinet but there were no whips, mirrored ceiling, or handcuffs.

"Obviously this is the..." BUZZZZZ. They hurried back to the waiting area and let him in. He was around 40, suited and booted looking fairly chilled.

"Nice to see you back, today we've got Jill" diverting his attention to the girl. "Usual fee £50", he pulled out a roll of notes and handed it over. Before calmly following the prostitute down the hall. Helen was taken back by how relaxed things were.

"He won't be long, never gets his money's worth if you know what I mean."

Helen smirked, "yeah I've had a few you can time a soft-boiled egg with." In reality, she'd only had full sex with two boyfriends. Rachel poured her a cup of tea without asking and handed it to her. She took a sip and asked, "he seems nice enough, I wouldn't have thought he'd have to pay."

"He can get it at home, it's the trill he's paying for. Most guys that come aren't that bad looking. Most guys pay for sex one way or another."

Helen looked confused "most guys?"

"Imagine a guy's being paying for your drinks all night, what is he really after? What do you do?"

Helen knew the answer, she'd repaid a guy's generosity a few times on her knees, "I've given head end of a few nights, kinda felt I had to."

"But you could have just walked away right? And that's the thing, it doesn't guarantee anything, but we do. £50 worth of drinks and a bye-bye not even a kiss or come here and get your rocks off"

It kind of made sense, yes Helen had given a few guys head end of the night, but she'd seen less ladylike behaviour and guys left unreciprocated.

"Is everything £50?"

"Basic package is fifty, that's starts with a massage, a short BJ then sex. If they want anal it's another £30. You don't look the type who gives head."

"If it's the right thing to do I will, I thought most girls did until I started uni. All my old friends do."

"Guess this generation just ain't taught etiquette anymore. Come on who taught you a lady always repays?"

Helen blushed "my mother, in a hotel one night."

"Always the mother, never the father" laughed Rachel. "Come on what happened"

"She's on a business trip, I'm tagging along for the shopping. We're in the hotel bar, g got chatting with these two guys. They buy us drinks, we accept quite a few."

"Your mother married?"

"Yes. We went to the bathroom and she told me she was going to thank one of the guys outside. I wasn't sure what she meant at first."

"Aw sweet and innocent, always shock to learn your parents have a sex life. She pressure you?"

"No, to be honest by then my inhibitions were a bit fuzzy."

"I assume you had went down previously, on boyfriends?"

"Yeah, but after a month of dating not a round of drinks."

"But you went through with it?"

The conversation was interrupted by another loud buzz. Another client entered, again just another unremarkable everyday guy. "Take a seat, she won't be long," he sank into the soft sofa looking at Helen.

"Helen's just telling me she gives head for drinks."

" Pleased to meet you, would you like another tea?"

Helen had to get back to class but promised to pop in for a chat. An idea formed in her head, and she needed a final-year project. Her mind wasn't on her studies that day. It had been a while since she'd been with a man. Could she do a one-night stand, not just a five-minute blow job? Give her body to an unknown man? She'd heard enough chat but never thought of going down that route. She never trusted online dating and felt you couldn't judge by a photo and a bullshit pro.

Instead, Helen found herself in a little red number sitting alone at the bar. She'd heard rumours it was a pick-up joint and it wasn't long before a guy made his move. His attire was chavvy, grey sweatpants and a baseball cap on a Shawn head. She doubted he had a proper job and he definitely wasn't dating material. Nevertheless, she was there to broaden her horizons. Ignoring his dated chat-up lines she flirted over a drink before offering him what he obviously wanted.

His place wasn't far, a small flat not particularly well kept but at least clean. He quickly took her into the bedroom pulled her into his arms and stuck his tongue down her throat. She squeezed his bottom and felt him growing. He broke loose and whipped his clothes off. There was no romantic mutual undressing, just get naked quick. It all felt so unattached and clinical.

His body was well toned if a little skinny and covered with tattoos that looked from amateurish hand. More importantly he had a dick that looked out of proportion to his frame. Thick, long with a bulbous head. "Go on stick it in your mouth. You know you want to."

Helen stretched her lips around it, he groaned pushing her head further on until she nearly choked. It was a lot bigger than her ex's. She massaged it in her mouth as she nodded her head and looked up at No. He began thrusting, Helen never liked thrusting. She coughed and withdrew, wouldn't you like to fuck something else?"

He threw her on the bed "get on yer knees"

She obeyed and was rewarded with a face planted on her pussy. His tongue flicked over it like a flame dancing over a Christmas pudding before shooting in and out like a dog raiding a jar of peanut butter. Two fingers soon followed, stroking with a come here motion, she squirmed in delight but yearned to be fully filled.

Getting between her legs he guided his cock to her pussy, rubbed up and down the lips a few times then pushed inside. She felt that unmistakable satisfaction of being taken. It was so good to have a cock in her again. The force of his thrusts flattened her into the prone bone position, grasping the sheets she took her pounding grateful for each deep probe. Totally dominated she surrendered and flooded his cock in orgasmic eruption. She barely noticed him pump his seed deep in her.

Helen felt different the next day, she had stepped out of the safe world of boyfriend sex into the dark dangerous unpredictable world of the one-night stand. Perhaps it was the extra inch or the thrill of sex with a stranger. Arguably it was pent of frustration of her cock drought ending but she had climaxed harder than ever before. A thought popped into her head, do prostitutes orgasm? She was sure they must fake it to please clients but do they ever cum for real?

When the next lunchtime meeting came she couldn't resist raising the question, Rachel had a way of making you feel at ease so it wasn't hard.

"Yes they do, occasionally, but 99% of the time no."

"I thought as much."

"To be honest, most guys aren't as good as they think. Sometimes on a busy day by afternoon, you wish one would just want a blow job or fuck your arse, just for a break."

"Well I get a kick out of swallowing but I confess I've never done anal"

"You, gotta be kidding me? No man's ever tried or are you just scared?"

"More unsure than scared. Past partner's never brought it up."

"It's a weird feeling if I'm honest and not every girl enjoys it. But in this game, it's more money in the pocket. £80 for half the work"

"Half? I thought it was more?"

"Nah 90% of the guys who ask for it last 3 mins tops. They're not the pornstars they think they are. Most want it because their wife said no."

Talk of anal raised Helen's curiosity. She'd seen a few video clips but it never really appealed to her. She'd never heard any of her friends mention it and had dismissed it as something middle-aged women with bucket vaginas did. She decided to push for more information.

"I always imagined anal was something you did when a dick rattled around your pussy like the last hotdog in the can."

Rachel laughed, "True, but it's a bit like beef. Some you want steak other times a burger."

Helen lay in bed that night thinking of the day's events. Like so many times before she found herself touching herself. She was always more into clitoris rubbing than fingering, and as she stroked the button her spare hand scrolled through a porn site. Jenny's ass gets pulverised, nope. Rectal ripping action, nope. Everything looked so fake. Anal virgin takes giant black dick, oh come on, she's at least 40, no one with that many tattoos and piercings doesn't take it up the arse at least once a week. Eventually, Helen chanced up some realistic amateur porn.

Helen chose the most phallic-looking carrot in the fridge, gave it a rinse then smothered it in butter. Laying down she pulled her legs back touched her sphincter and pushed firmly. A nasty sharp stabbing pain filled her. Years ago some idiot had pulled a chair away as she sat causing her to crash to the floor whacking her coccyx, the pain felt very similar. Even after the offending vegetable had been removed the pain lingered. Helen gave up, her horniness dampened she opted to get some sleep.

The next day the question still bugged her, how are those girls taking big dicks and enjoying it? What was she doing wrong? In the lecture hall, she found herself staring at the rows of girls sitting in front of her and wondering how many had done anal. She noticed Jessica was a bit wobbly on the stairs this morning, did she push herself too hard on leg day at the gym or did that ass get ploughed last night?

Back home, Helen decided to ignore porn and look at sex advice sites. Most of the guidelines were around good lubrication so perhaps butter wasn't the best lube, especially salted. They talked about relaxing the sphincter with plenty of fingering but she found the angling of the hand awkward and uncomfortable. Helen had an idea, get a carrot-shaped carrot, one that tapered like carrots were supposed to.

Dipping the carrot into a tub of hand cream she put it to her hole and pushed her sphincter out just like in the video. The carrot slipped in a little bit, she held it there a moment and redipped and repeated. With each new try, she felt her bottom suck the carrot further and further inside. Could she now take a fat carrot? there was only one way to find out. Relax deep breaths, push out that sphincter and wiggle. It disappeared up her with ease. Slowly she began to move it, Rachel was right it was odd yet weirdly pleasurable.

In her heightened state of arousal, she logged on to a hookup site. She'd joined months ago but never did more than browse. There were countless messages waiting for her, 'U WONT BIG DIK' urgh, bad English is such a turnoff. How could so many guys with 15-inch dicks be single? She scrolled through the crap and chanced up someone normal. Sure he was looking for sex but wasn't claiming to be King Dong.

The chat soon led to a meet-up, it's amazing how quickly guys can get from A to B when there's sex involved. It's a well-known fact that people who race pigeons use sex as a way of getting their birds to fly home faster. But nothing moves faster than a nerdy art student that's been offered ass. Most people look better in real life than in their photos, he was the opposite but Helen just wanted his dick.

Helen sat on the edge of the sofa, leant back lifting her short skirt and exposing her well-lubed hole.

"Show me what you can do."

He quickly unbuckled and hastily ripped open a condom and rolled it on. His cock was what girls refer to as "cute" but for Helen's first anal she didn't want a man-sized cock.

Kneeling on the floor he pressed his cock against her hole, she pushed out and felt him enter her. Suddenly his dick started juddering and he gasped as he unloaded his seed.

"WHAT THE FUCK, 3 SECONDS." Helen was not happy.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry" he whimpered as he pulled his pants up and made for the door.

Helen was furious, how could she have been so stupid? She cleaned up and sought solace in a bottle of gin.

She woke late the following day feeling the effect of alcohol more than anal. Experience had taught her the best cure for a hangover was a greasy fry-up. There was none greaser than the little café on Park road. As usual, it was pretty empty, Helen pushed her sausage around the plate and wondered if she ate there enough her bottom would end up so oiled she'd never need lube again. It wasn't long before Rachel came in for lunch and joined her at the table.

"Don't normally see you here on a Saturday, Late night?"

"One gin too many."

"Must have been a good night?"

"I wish, met a guy online and it didn't go well. Thought I'd give anal a try but he disappointed. How the fuck can a guy come in one thrust?"

"Trust me, that's pretty common. Bet he had a little dick."

"Yeah, thought I'd start small."

"Small guys are always shit in bed, they just don't get enough practice. You need an average size dick the first few times."

"Is it worth persevering with?"

"It's worth doing at least once if you're really interested there's a regular client due soon. He's far from fantastic, more a C grade but he'd be a good real first time."

Helen was taken back, she was no whore but she didn't want to insult Rachel.

"I wouldn't want to take work from your girl."