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I’ve had experience writing, both in general and in erotica, but this is the first story I’ve ever uploaded on this site. Hope you like it!
I’d had big plans for my future, once. I’d been making them up since before I began high school. I would go to Amsterdam for university, land a nice job there, and live my life in Holland. It would be wonderful, living in one of the freest places in the world, where everything I could ever need was a short bike ride through some of the most beautiful streets the world has to offer. The rich history, the transportation, it was all so terribly appealing. In my last year of high school, I got accepted into a university there. I was ecstatic, elated, overjoyed. I started planning the same day — seeing what house I would rent, where I would work; I even landed a job that I would start as soon as I arrived. I learned Dutch. I saved up over the year, I had money for the plane ticket, for the first month of rent, a fund for the first few weeks of groceries — I had it thought out.
The plane ride for anyone else would’ve been miserable. But for me, the only bad part was how long it took. I was too excited to be uncomfortable. I was running on an adrenaline high, I couldn’t have fallen asleep in the most comfortable of beds, let alone the cramped confines of the plane.
I rushed off the plane, I almost sprinted to the baggage claim, I knocked off a wheel of my suitcase with how fast I was dragging it. I paid for my train to Amsterdam in Dutch just to see if I could do it. I hopped on the train and stared out the window the entire distance. When we pulled into the station, I was waiting at the door. I walked all the way to my building, soaking in everything the city had to offer.
Entering my room, it was small. It was shitty. It smelled funny. It was my favourite place in the universe. A place of my own — I could put whatever I wanted in here. I could live here. Sure, I don’t own it per se, but for all intents and purposes it was mine. I flopped onto the bed and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
After a few hours I’d gotten everything squared away. My clothes were in the drawers, I’d hooked up my phone and laptop to the WiFi, I’d gotten changed, bought groceries. I went down to my place of work, a grocery store chain where I’d be stocking shelves. There are worse jobs to have. When I arrived, however, I was greeted with:
“We’re sorry, we already filled that position because we couldn’t wait for you to get here.”
The next few weeks were a downward spiral. I spent hours every day applying for jobs, handing out resumés, going to interviews, but I never managed to land a job. I had to start dipping into my university fund to afford food. I sold my laptop to meet rent.
Nothing worked. I cancelled my university application because I couldn’t afford to travel to the campus, and had no way to get the money together to pay my tuition. I packed up what little remained and left the apartment.
How did it go so wrong, so quickly? I don’t know. All I know is that on the street I got picked up by Damien.
Damien was from Cincinnati. He said I was pretty enough, and that if I worked with him I might make it as a prostitute. Of course, he was sly, so he found a way to word it that made it sound a lot better, but that was the gist. He told me to maintain my appearance as best I could and take every gig that came to me.
So that was what I did. Every dollar I was allowed I put into myself. Going to the gym, skincare, getting all my nutrients in, taking care of my hair, staying clean. I was the healthiest I’d ever been, and simultaneously the poorest. As for my work, he’d have me go after tourists hanging out in the red light district and work for low prices since there was always very little demand for male prostitutes. “There’s room in this economy for five of you, and currently, there’s three hundred.” Damien would tell me. Sometimes he’d have me make films with his girls, and then I would get a percentage cut of the views. That was good — views over time was a few bucks I could fall back on consistently.
…
I finished styling my hair just as my phone’s screen lit up, accompanied by the buzz of the device rattling against the bathroom table. Picking it up, I read the text off the lock screen.
“Lot of people on the streets tonight. Be out at 21”
The text was from Damien. I did some quick mental math — in my mind, I still operated on twelve-hour time. Nine PM, an hour and a half earlier than usual. I checked the time. Eight fourty-five. I could make it, if I rushed a bit.
I reacted to his message with a thumbs-up emoji, shut the screen off, and put the phone back down to finish getting myself together. I applied a bit of cologne, a tad of makeup (mostly to hide the bags under my eyes), straightened out my shirt, packed up my stuff, and left the restroom.
The city was still bright, with the sun refusing to relinquish its hold on the sky any time before ten PM. That was helpful, it made it easier to get where Sahabet I needed to be — that being the Red-Light District. It was a ten-minute walk from the restaurant bathroom I usually freshened up in. I chose this one in specific because it was one of the few in the city that was relatively clean, empty, and didn’t charge me to use.
Checking my phone, I took note of the time: eight fifty-five. I silently cursed myself for not having a bike and picked up my pace.
Damien was right; the streets were especially populated tonight. If I was lucky, I might pick up two or three jobs before the night was over.
Arriving at the canal, I slowed down, taking a moment to catch my breath. I checked to make sure everything in my handbag was still there before making my rounds up and down the street.
After only about fifteen minutes, I noticed a woman staring me down. She looked significantly older than me, twenty or so years, with tan skin, straight dark hair, and piercing brown eyes. Indian, I reckoned. She had a great figure, and smooth skin despite her apparent age. Over her physique she wore a suit, business formal, with the jacket unbuttoned and hanging at her sides, the top button of the dress shirt undone, and the tie loosened.
She began making her way towards me. That startled me — she didn’t seem like the type who would need to pay. Hell, there was probably any number of men who would’ve paid her.
“Uh, h-hey m-miss,” I stuttered out, internally cursing myself for my god-awful first impression, “what brings you around here?”
“I guess you could call it shopping.” She replied with a smile that showed off her perfect teeth. Her accent confirmed my previous suspicions of her ethnicity.
“And, if you wouldn’t mind me asking, what might you be in the market for?” I probed, matching her smile and trying to look slick.
She took a step closer, until she was in arm’s reach. Her smile dissipated. She reached a hand out to touch me, paused, and asked “do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I answered. Some customers liked to feel the goods to know I was good product. I didn’t mind — it was part of my job to not mind.
She placed her hand on my chin, feeling around my jawline, running her fingers along my neck, lifting my head and bringing it back down. She hooked a thumb in my cheek and pulled, inspecting my teeth. “Stick out your tongue.” She instructed, removing her thumb from my mouth. I abided. She didn’t say anything, but she seemed pleased.
Her hand drifted to my shirt. Lifting up the hem, she did a half grin at my abdominals before lowering the shirt back down.
“Perfect.” She said. “You’ll be perfect.”
“Oh, um, great.” I said, surprised she didn’t go for a feel of my member — that was usually what my clients did when they did a physical inspection. “Should I take you up to my spot, or-“
“I have a hotel.” She interrupted.
I blinked a few times. “Let me just tell my boss, it’s a policy thing.” I pulled out my phone and sent out the message. “Would you like to hear my rates first?”
“If it helps your confidence.” She shrugged.
“Thirty euros per hour. Any more and it’s a euro a minute.”
“Hm. Shall we go, then?”
“Sure thing.”
She turned on her heel and began walking back down the canal, making a ‘follow me’ gesture behind herself. I followed.
We took the tram to the hotel. Entering it, it was substantially fancier than the few ones I had been in. My heart began racing as I entered the elevator with her. She didn’t move a muscle. Usually my clients got a bit fidgety or excited, but she was completely still.
Entering her room, she shut the maple door and kicked off her black heels. I did the same with my cheap running shoes. The room had ornate light green wallpapers and intricate crowning, with soft carpeted floors and hanging lights. The bedside tables and cabinets were made of solid wood with intricate carvings. I’d never been in a hotel like this.
The woman put her suit jacket on a hanger and placed it in the closet. I cleared my throat, and she turned to face me. “I should let you know fetish work costs extra.” I squeaked out.
She made a dismissive wave. “I don’t want to talk about money anymore. Go kneel in front of the bed and take off your shirt.”
Not wanting to risk losing a client, I did as I was told. I peeled off my shirt, folded it, put it at the foot of the bed, and kneeled down. This part was semi-familiar to me, but I’d never had a client be quite so forward before.
She reentered my view, walking in front of me. She tossed her purse on the bed and laid down a folded towel next to it before sitting on it, facing towards me with her legs on either side of my body. I looked up at her and met her eye. On her face, she wore an expectant expression.
I steeled my resolve, trying to force myself into my usual headspace I used when working with clients, but it was difficult. This woman was too different. My key was not fitting into this new lock, so to speak. My heart Sahabet Giriş thumped in my ears.
Not wanting to wait until I was told what to do, I reached up to the waistband of the suit pants and undid the top button. My hands were quivering, just slightly. I lowered my fingers and pinched the zipper, gently pulling it down.
“Yes, slow, like that.” The woman said, reclining back and laying down on the bed.
That helped my confidence a bit. I let out a deep breath. Pulling open the pants — slowly, of course — I tried making a bit of conversation. “What should I call you, miss?”
“Rita.” She replied succinctly.
“Rita” I repeated. “Would you lift your hips for me, Rita?” I asked.
She pushed her feet down and arched her back, lifting her lower torso off the towel and leaving an imprint that matched her contours on the bed.
With my fingertips I pinched the waistband on either side of her hips and slid the suit pant down to her knees, exposing the white satin panties that covered her pubic mound and the tan skin of her lower torso and thighs. The skin had only minor signs of age, and not to the extent that one would have expected from a woman of the age I suspected Rita of being.
She lowered herself back down, sinking into the bed and deforming the towel.
I pulled the pants off each leg and set them aside. While I did so, Rita unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her stomach and chest with the opened shirt laying flat on the bed. Her bra matched her panties and lifted up and down with her slow breaths.
Placing my index just beneath the bulge of her panties, I traced it up her slit through the garment, trying to illicit a reaction. I thought I heard a small quiver in her breath, but it’s possible I misheard. Seeing no clip or knot on the underwear, I began pulling them down by the waistband at a snail’s pace, hoping it would add anticipation of some sort.
Rita lifted her hips again, making it easier to remove the garment.
Peeling away the cloth, I saw the top of a pubic bush and a stark lack of a tan line. Continuing, more pubis was revealed, with the curled hairs unfurling from beneath the panties. Her bush was short, and rather than tapering off, ended in a well-groomed break that ended just above the beginning of her vulva. Her outer labia had a more brown hue, matching the surrounding skin, and her inner labia was tulip pink. Her clitoris was smooth, full, and engorged. The entire organ had the beginnings of slickness forming on it, giving it a slight gleam.
The underwear passed her torso, exposing her entire vulva, then her upper thigh, then her knee, then her calf, until they came off. I placed them on top of the pants.
Returning to her privates, I was surprised at how it was affecting me. Hell, my mouth was watering. I almost hadn’t noticed.
I dove in. I planted my open lips on the entire upper half of her groin, attempting to pleasure her as best I could. Her skin was soft, plush, hot. It tasted sweet. I suctioned my lips and ran my tongue along her clitoris. I moved my arm under my chin and began to put my fingers near her entrance, and-
She ripped my head away from her by my hair and grabbed me by the jaw, squeezing my cheeks until my lips protruded like a duck’s. She had sat up, and was looking me in the eyes with her brow furrowed. She clicked her tongue like she was reprimanding a child. “No. Slowly. And no fingers.” She demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” I squeaked out as best as I could with her hand still firmly gripping my face.
“Good!” she exclaimed, her angered look quickly turning back into a smile that folded the corners of her mouth. She let herself fall backwards, her open shirt lagging behind like contrails, before landing on the bed with a muffled thump.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. I looked back at her plush nethers. I raised my hands and placed them on her hips. She was warm. Her skin was smooth. I leaned in, planted a kiss on her upper thigh. I could feel the warmth radiating from her crotch. I turned my head to the other side. I could smell the heady, musky scent of her arousal. I kissed her other thigh.
I moved closer, further up the thigh, planting a more firm kiss that left a small reddened spot from the suction, then repeated on the other side. I let out a heavy breath on her groin in an attempt to wordlessly communicate.
I kissed the upper half of her vagina. She didn’t make any noise, but her body stiffened for a brief moment. I licked from her perineum to her clitoris in one long stroke, then repeated. I alternated between these two actions at a slow pace.
After a few minutes of just doing that, I began to wonder what she even wanted from me. How long does she want me to do this for? Does she want me to take the lead at some point? Does she just want me to lick her cunt for an hour?
There was a constant flow of juices from her, and a constant temperature. She wasn’t getting more turned on, or less. She wasn’t moving or making any noise other than the Sahabet Güncel Giriş occasional soft moan. She just sat there while I lapped at her pussy like a dog.
I tried speeding up, seeing if she wanted me to lead. I began licking faster, suckling on her clitoris a little harder.
“No.” Rita said in a demanding tone. “Do not do anything different until I tell you to.”
I returned to my usual speed, and continued licking her slit.
After a while, my jaw began getting a little sore, and my upper lip was becoming sensitive after consistently brushing up against her bush. Looking up, I noticed she was looking at her phone. I don’t know when she started.
So that’s what I was to her. A minor entertainment, a way to pass the time. A toy that she could set up and enjoy for a while without really focusing on it.
Saddened as I was, I continued licking her pussy. Sucking her labia, licking her clitoris, running my tongue through her slit.
After what I imagine was about forty minutes, she tossed her phone off to the side. She slid her hands behind her head and shimmied a bit, making herself more comfortable. “Alright, boy, you can make me cum now.” She said.
I fought down the urge to do anything that would leave a negative impression and did as she said. I French kissed her vagina, running my tongue along it and suctioning on various parts, sliding my lips along the surface. I swallowed a lot of fluid in the process.
Her and her body responded to my increased fervor by producing more secretions and beginning to gyrate her hips, grinding against my tongue. Her moans picked up in frequency and intensity.
I kept up the movements, fervently licking at her nethers. Her breaths hitched and grew more shallow, and she moaned demands for more between pleasured groans.
Her body seized up and an obscenity escaped her lips. In the same moment, her vagina did what I could only describe as a ‘pop’, with a sudden spurt of fluid shooting from her — directly onto my face.
Looking up at her on the bed, I watched her chest rise and fall with heavy breaths and gradually slow to a more normal breath. She propped her head up with her arms and locked eyes with me.
“Good.” She panted. “But that one’s a freebie, just because I find you cute.”
“Uh… thanks?” I answered nervously.
“If you want to earn a little more,” she continued, reaching into her purse at her side and pulling out a fifty euro bill, “you’ll do it again. You can use your fingers this time.”
I reached for the bill, but she pulled it away just before I could grab it. “Ah-ah-ah,” she scolded, “you get this after. Not before.” She pushed me down by the top of my head back between her legs. “And wipe your face off on the towel. I don’t want you smearing cum all over my pussy.”
The towel had a wet spot where the runoff of her ejaculate had dripped down to when it wasn’t in my mouth or on my visage. I wiped my face off on the towel as she instructed.
“Now go again.”
I did as I was told. I made a ring seal with my lios onto her clitoris, firmly placing my nose in her bush, and suckled like a newborn on a tit. Snaking a hand beneath my chin, I inserted a finger into her. Feeling that there was room, I inserted another before firmly pressing down towards her tailbone and sliding my appendages in and out.
She began to groan immediately, bucking her hips and breathing heavily. I felt her hands reach around the back of my head, forcing me into her. As I continued, her fingers curled inwards, pulling my hair to the point of pain. “Yeah, fucking eat it” she groaned through gritted teeth. “You’ll work for that fifty, won’t you?”
I tried to ignore the comments and continued eating the older woman out. Her breathing grew more laboured, she ground against my face harder, she forced my face further into her muff and pulled more aggressively at my hair.
Then it happened again. Another spurt, this time in my mouth. It was thick, sour, warm. She kept holding my face to her groin.
“I know you tasted that. I want you to swallow it.”
“Mmf!” I groaned.
“There’s another ten in for you if you do it.”
I stopped resisting. “Mmf” I demurred. Reluctantly, I forced the fluid to the back of my throat and swallowed, making sure the gulp was audible.
“Good boy!” Rita said, patting me atop my head. “Now let’s get you another twenty…”
“Hold on-” I started before being interrupted by Rita spinning around and managing to flip my onto my back on the bed.
She was above me, now, on her knees with her legs on either side of my head and her dripping pussy above my face. I felt the texture of the towel against my scalp. She looked down at me, grinning, and dropped down.
Her cunt smacked against my face with a wet slap. She moaned as it did. Not taking any time to rest, she began grinding across my entire face, slathering me in excretions.
She moaned loudly above me and put more of her weight onto my skull. Without pause, she continued to grind against me.
“Keep that mouth open!” she demanded.
I opened my mouth.
“And lay out your tongue flat, I want to really feel it.” She commanded. “God, when I’m done with you, you’re mouth’s gonna taste like my pussy for a fucking month.”
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