I was 19 years old and in college when this adventure started. I was broke and looking for a job whenever a family friend suggested to my mother that he knew someone who was looking for a live in babysitter, since it was suggested by someone I trusted, I decided it was worth checking out. I had text with the wife back and forth, and she invited me to dinner at a very nice restaurant with her and her husband (with them footing the bill) and I quickly agreed. That was the night I met Tom and Denise Howardson.
Tag: Prostitute
“When do I Start?”
I was 19 years old and in college when this adventure started. I was broke and looking for a job whenever a family friend suggested to my mother that he knew someone who was looking for a live in babysitter, since it was suggested by someone I trusted, I decided it was worth checking out. I had text with the wife back and forth, and she invited me to dinner at a very nice restaurant with her and her husband (with them footing the bill) and I quickly agreed. That was the night I met Tom and Denise Howardson.
[M] First time with a prostitute
This is my account of the first time I went to a prostitute. I’ve previously used sugar daddy type websites, which I’ve also written about on here. I’m not (now) ashamed of what I did, as the woman in question was consenting, well paid, and I treated her with respect. My following descriptions of Anna (let’s call her) and what we did are purely objective.
I found Anna on a website advertising escorts in Manchester. She was Hungarian, late 20s or early 30s. After making contact with Anna I arrived at her address, which was a flat above a shop, which she appeared to share with other escorts. She met me at the top of the stairs. She looked maybe a little older, and less pretty than I had hoped. TBH I wasn’t blown away by her looks, but she was attractive enough, average really (and so am I, so I can’t complain). She did however have a nice figure. Maybe 5’8″, a little shorter than me. Curvy in a nice way. Quite large, pert breasts. I did wonder whether they were artificial, but whatever, they looked good. Light brown hair. Green eyes. She was wearing a kind of skimpy nighty type thing and see-through bra and panties.
[MfM] Local Work [prost] [fantasy] [Mdom]
Ming sat down heavily on the shoddy bed, causing it to creak worryingly. The little room at the back of the inn had cost her most of what money she had left. While that had not been a lot to begin with, it hardly seemed worth it for what she had gotten. Even so, it was a roof over her head, and the bed was clean enough. Not _clean_, as such, but _clean enough_. Looking through her purse, she found that she only had a few copper pennies left, and realized she’d have to scare up some income if she wanted her journey to continue; Rosefire was still almost two waynweeks away, and at least three times that on foot, and she’d have to be very fortunate to get there on anything less than half a crown.
After changing her travel leathers for street clothes, she made her way back to the common room, where a couple of pennies bought her a light meal and half a bottle of weak winterfruit wine. As she ate, she watched the room for opportunities to make a bit of coin, but nothing obvious presented itself.
Learning a Thing or Two from my Cousin [m] [F] [oral] [mast] [cheat] [cum] [anal]
This isn’t one of those fake incest stories where we’re step-siblings or in-laws or godparents. Sasha IS my cousin, it’s just that she’s like, my third cousin, twice removed, blah blah. So, we’re technically related, but … it goes back quite a ways.
She’s also 10 years older than me. She’d babysit, tell me to stop being a nerd and kiss more girls. She’d tell me to dress cooler, less like my mommy dressed me. That sort of thing.
When she went to college, I was bummed. I liked Sasha. We had a ton of fun together.
Then, life interrupts and I didn’t see her for a long, long time. Until I got her wedding invite in the mail. I went. It was awkward. She hated the guy she was marrying, but her parents had been pushy about wanting grandkids and they were traditionalists, so … Sasha got married.
A few months later, they took a break and things remained like that for almost five years. Married, but not. She eventually settled one state over – just 20 minutes from my house – and we got dinner.
My Wet Dream [g7][M/d]
My Wet Dream [g7][M/d]
I am out in the yard, planting shrubs around the mailbox. I am wearing
headphones and singing along loudly to Rancid’s “Indestructable.”
“…Hells Angels in my neighborhood, it was always understood… I was
runnin’ out from the Angels, I was a little fuckin’ hood… Punk rock
was my way out and it was always in my blood- I don’t give a fuck, I
was
locked up- Should be dead or in jaiiiilllllll……….” I am
screaming
when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Mrs. Morgan, my Mom asked me if I could come over here and ask if
you’d
sing quieter…”
There she stood. The pedophile’s wet dream. She seriously was perfect.
Shoulder length golden-blond hair, cut in a pixie style. She had most
of
it pulled behind her ears, but a few strands hung in her face,
highlighting her giant ice-blue eyes. Then there was her pert, slightly
upturned nose, and those lucious lips, just begging to be kissed.
“Yes, of course, Laurie… I’m very sorry” I apologized.
“What was it you were singing, anyway? It sure had alot of bad words in
it.” She asked.
Yes, Master. [M/m, Feminization, Intr, Mdom]
Theodore Scott sat at the long, redwood table in the glorious plantation house. His long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail with a large blue bow. He courtly sipped the cold fruit juice as the mixed slave girl poured another glass.
“It’s rather pleasant today, is it not, Jessabelle?” he swallowed his bite of steak, finally enjoying some calm, cool weather. It usually was miserably hot and humid.
“Yassuh, massuh Scott.” she smiled with a grin of false joy. She ran her white fingers through her blonde curls to keep them from dangling in front of her blue eyes and freckled round nose.
“You a good friend…”
He was all by himself here. He was sent off by his father to run a plantation until his father could come by and run it from there. But his father would not be arriving by boat for weeks. Months maybe. His only company was Jessabelle, and the occasional slave beater. But he hated them…they were disgusting, ignorant, violent white people from the uncivilized areas of the colonies. And their English was atrocious: yassuh, yassum, ain’t, naw, shucks, gimme, dat, da, den, niggah, krackuh, lawd, chuuch, sweet lawd hah muzzay. Atrocious! Could they not elucidate the queen’s English?! And then, to make things worse? They pass this bastardized ignorant way of speaking to the slaves…and the slaves think THIS is proper English?! Shameful.
Theodore brushed it out of his mind and looked up at Jessabelle.
The Neighbor’s Sugar [MFF, First] [Xpost from /r/AlexisEllison]
My husband, Dylan, was a hard man to shop for. Or maybe it was just that I always put too much pressure on myself to make any special occasion perfect.
The first time we celebrated his birthday together, we were just dating. I spent months trying to come up with the perfect gift. I had been completely broke then, so I saved my pennies until I could afford a beautiful watch. It was a fitting symbol for the years we planned to spend together but, sadly, it broke just after the warranty ran out.
His birthday was now just around the corner, and I had worked myself up into my usual panicked frenzy, trying to find the gift that could top the last one. He always told me not to worry about it- that he would be happy just spending time together. But it was something that I couldn’t help, and probably wouldn’t even if I could. So, as usual when I was stuck on a particularly difficult problem, I called in my partner-in-crime and my cool-headed confidant: our neighbor Stefanie.
Early Release for Naughty Behavior [MF][Str8][BD][Heavy MDom][Sci-Fi][Prost][Dystopian]
I flipped past the eighth page of mugshots with a sigh. Too fat. Too skinny. Too young. Too old. I amazed myself at how quickly I had reduced these women into their base attributes. It had been a struggle on those first pages when I made sure to read each of their names, crimes, and sentences. I kept trying to find their story- what got them into this binder for thousands of men like me to flip through. It was easy to feel sorry for them, to think as those filthy Traditionalists did and think for a moment that this was inhumane and unjust. Around the fifth page though, it had become increasingly easy to just see them for what they were, state property to be used to get off with.
Only three types of people looked through these binders regularly: the elite, the lucky, and the seriously aggrieved. I was just happy to be on the right side of the slum gates, and I wasn’t feeling very lucky after the murder of my wife by a civil unit. Most people came to an office like this one at least once in their lives, but it was prohibitively expensive for most to come regularly. I never saw the appeal in it myself, but now I had a lifetime complete access pass.
The story of when I was mistaken for a prostitute… [FM]
This happened just about a year ago, I was 20 and was still rebounding from my previous relationship. It was the longest relationship I’d been in before but it ended on reasonably good terms, I was just in need of more attention after it. So I actively sought out more attention.
I frequented a bar near to my flat, it was about a 20 minute walk away into town and it was one of the only bars near me that anyone actually bothered to go to, so it was usually the only option. I’d dress up in the nicest (usually sluttiest) clothes I had, do my make up as nice as I can and whether or not any of my flat mates wanted to come with me or not, I’d head off. The plan was to at least get a few free drinks out of it, a good conversation, a number and if I was really lucky (and put out) I’d end up at someone else’s place.
And FYI I always put out. What can I say I wanted attention, physically, and I knew how to get it.